Chapter 10: Foal of Secrets

Gearhead supposed that the first bit of good news was that he was still alive to regain consciousness. He kept his eyes closed and his breathing as close to what it had been as possible while he took an inventory of everything else.

First, while he had light bruises and abrasions in all kinds of places, he no longer felt exhausted. He guessed that whatever had brought him here had not been all the careful. Perhaps it was even unable to be careful. Other than an assortment of light injuries, Gearhead was unharmed, and his hooves were not even tied. He was simply lying on his side on the grass and underbrush.

The place smelled of wet and old vegetation, but not much else. Even the usual variety of animal noises associated with forests seemed muted, and not in a way that his lying on his side could account for, what with one ear being in the air. Even without moving it, he could pick up various sounds, and he was able to twitch it occasionally as though dreaming.

“I see you’re awake, m’colt,” a voice like nails on a chalkboard said. Gearhead knew that voice. Well, there was no point pretending, so Gearhead slowly got to a sitting position. He saw that they were indeed in the middle of a forest, and there was only one nearby when they had been snatched: the Everfree Forest. This was a section that Gearhead did not recognize.

The foalnapper had taken the trouble to set each of her captives out in a diagonal line, each at least three meters apart. Gearhead thought that maybe this was to discourage them banding together to try to escape, not that running would be smart when they did not know in what direction to go. All three fillies had similar scratches and bruises. The journey here had not discriminated between male or female. Gearhead then turned his attention to their captor.

Gearhead knew the witch pony both by sight and sound, but this would be Dusty’s first encounter with the dark Unicorn. She must have escaped from prison, but coming back here instead of trying to find someplace new could be an indication of her intentions. “Indeed. Would you mind telling me who you are, and what you want with us?”

“Oh, I’m somepony who’s very unhappy with the way I’ve been treated as a… guest… in Canterlot. And it all started with some of your friends. And since ye’re friendly with the lot, I figured the best way to get ‘em off their game was through ye four.”

“So revenge is your game. I’m not sure it’ll work, unless you found a trail – which we four could backtrack, so I doubt it.”

“Ye’re awefully calm,”

“No use panicking about something I can’t help,” Gearhead shrugged.

“We’ll see how long ye can keep thinking like that,” the witch said. Apple Bloom groaned audibly, and soon the other two fillies were stirring as well.

“What’s your gameplan here?” Gearhead asked. “You can’t just move carelessly, or you’ll be caught again, and you obviously don’t intend to kill us, or you’d have been done with it before we could come to.”

“Well guess what, colt. No, don’t answer that. I’ve decided that I only need one of ye, and ye’ve mouthed off enough for me to believe that it’s not you I need. So…"

As the fillies were getting up and gaining their bearings, the witch’s eyes began to go completely black. Gearhead turned toward his friends, putting his back to the witch, just as they locked gazes with her. Startled expressions slackened, and their eyes became dilated and empty. Jaws slackened, and bodies held only enough tension to remain standing. Only dark magic could explain mind control of this level.

“Return them,” Gearhead said icily without looking back at the witch: for all he knew, he was as vulnerable to being controlled as the fillies were.

“Oh, but I’m just getting started. Tell me, my girls, whose is the voice that ye hear?”

“Master’s voice,” the three replied in a monotone.

“Whom do ye love?”

“Love master,”

“And who is your master?”

“No!” Gearhead knew where this was going, and did not like it. But there was nothing he could do, not without his own powers intact.

“You are, Master.”

“Well then, my daughters, listen for your first command.”

“We hear, Master.”

“Rip the colt to shreds.”

“Yes, Master.” The fillies’ eyes became red, and then they fanned out to advance on Gearhead. He realized that if he backed up he would just drive himself against the witch, so he stood his ground and tried to prepare to take advantage of any opening that might appear. Only none did, when the fillies spread out to encircle him. Now I know what the Hydra felt like, he thought. And again, he did not like it. He reached out, extending his thoughts and awareness, trying desperately for anything at all.

And then the fillies all pounced, striking together.

Or they would have, if a circle of high-force wind did not pop up around Gearhead. As the fillies got flung away, to bounce off of nearby trees or against the ground, Gearhead felt the flowing sensation around his horn and hooves: Magic.

“Oh, so ye’ve got some in ye after all, or did it just come about?” The witch asked, a sneer in her voice. “Is that how much ye care, and yet ye dashed ‘em all upon rocks and trees?”

“That won’t work,” Gearhead said, starting to realize how his magic was simply different from how he was used to it being. He shifted focus, so he could see magic auras, and turned to face his true opponent. It took only a moment to confirm that as long as he was in this state, her mind control would not work on him. “This is all on you.”

“Be that as it may, t’won’t save ye. Dool!” For a moment Gearhead thought the witch was calling him a fool, but then the Dullihan appeared, having answered his master’s call. “This is my most faithful servant, the Headless Horse, Dool, and unlike with your friends, a knock to the head won’t deter him in the slightest, seeing as he doesn't have one.”

“Dullihan,” Gearhead said. “That’s what they’re really called.”

“Oh good, ye’re familiar. So I won’t have to explain, except for one thing: Dool’s lost his head. He wants yours. Dool, do as ye please with the colt.” The Dullihan charged in, with a steady start that gradually accelerated. At the same time, knowing he would be attacked, Gearhead built up a charge of Light energy into his horn. When the Dullihan was half his own length away, Gearhead released the blast from low-down, lifting the horse off the ground and sending him flying, up and over a stand of nearby trees. Birds chattered, startled, and took off. “Yes, well, that won’t work a second time, now will it? And on top of that, ye’ve gone and made ‘im angry. And there’s no spell that’ll save ye now.”

But there is, Gearhead thought. After the encounter with the witch and her Dullihan, Gearhead had gone to the trouble of looking specifically for a spell that could remove curses, like the one that held the Dullihan in undead service to the witch.

“Zi̱tó̱ apó ta Tésseris Megáles Pnév̱mata:̱ Días, i̱ Dí̱mi̱tra, Poseidó̱na, kai ton Í̱faisto na paracho̱rí̱sei se af̱tó to chlo̱mó polemistí̱ tis ev̱logíes tous. Chori̱gí̱soun af̱tí̱ tími̱se polemistí̱ epáxia kai kairó anamenómeni̱ anápaf̱si̱s.” While Gearhead had been enacting his incantation, calling upon Zeus, Demeter, Neptune, and Hephaestus – the same four he had learned were responsible for the transformation spell he had been studying – the Dullihan came charging back. This time he was jinking and weaving so he could not be hit by another blast. Gearhead, by contrast, split his attention between his incantation and the incoming target and threat. When the Dullihan was within reach, Gearhead leaped for it, extending both hooves, which now glowed with the spell. “Katára Katárgi̱si̱!”

Suddenly both combatanats’ forward motion ceased, and two interweaving magic circles of brilliant white light materialized around the suspended Dullihan. As the two circles tilted and spun, the black mist ceased flowing from the horse’s neck, and its mane and coat gradually lightened. Its form changed from a horse to a coffin with a headstone floating appropriately above it. The three suspended parts of the spell floated down to the ground, and once the coffin had disappeared below, a globe of light took both the headstone and the coffin and flew off, most probably to the horse’s proper burial site.

“My!—But how could you have such a spell?!”

“Just because I couldn’t cast, doesn’t mean I don’t have a great teacher,” Gearhead said. He felt the flowing tingle on his horn lessen slightly, but he still had business with the witch. Although he had just casted a High Ancient spell in Greek, he still felt like he could do far more. “And now no one stands between you and me,” he said. The witch tried to pre-empt him by attacking first, but Gearhead raised the defensive shield all magic-users had, and her bolt did not do any damage. But when he returned fire, he fully intended for it to be a direct hit. It was not, as the witch took to fleeing.

Gearhead took off after her, his pace accelerated with Wind Magic. As the light Alicorn chased the dark Unicorn through the forest, weaving between the trees and jumping over rocks and roots, they traded magic bolts. The witch often snapped her shots off too quickly, and hit the ground or a tree. Gearhead came closer, but somehow the witch seemed to read when and where he would shoot, and dodge it. Maybe she had something similar to Read.

When it became obvious the witch could not shake Gearhead sometime later, she began to loop back and confront him more directly. Her shots came closer as they charged at each other, time and again, without seeming to tire. Gearhead could not tell how long it had been since the chase had begun, but some time ago he had felt the flow lessen again. Then the witch unleashed a massive blast which would take Gearhead and the rock behind him. He flipped clear over it, aided by his magic, and landed where the rock once had been.

Gearhead was about to charge for a returning blast when the feeling of flow simply vanished, and he could no longer even sense the witch’s magic aura. When he was unable to return her latest attack, the witch reared up in victory. “Ye may have powerful magic in ye, but even ye’ve got limits, and seems ye’ve hit ‘em rightly enough. Indeed, I should be thankful: I get to strike the death-blow meself. Say ‘hello’ to you’re gods when ye meet ‘em!”

Gearhead watched the massive bolt charge. He knew that his physical abilities were as far from being sufficient to evade the blast as could be, even from a distance. But he would not give up, not even by half. He dug deep, feeling within himself for the last resort that was said to exist within all ponies.

The witch fired.

Gearhead leaped, flapping his wings in desperation, willing himself to rise far above that gargantuan blast and to safety. And watched in awe as the witch’s magic attack struck a furrow in the ground underneath him. “What d’you know? Seems I can do it after all, when I try.” The explanation might be simpler, Gearhead realized, when he noticed that his wings were larger than normal. So this, too, seemed to be a sort of magical skill activation. Had it only happened because he was desperate enough to try now?

“D’ye think that’ll save ye?” The witch came soaring up, using her magic in lieu of wings.

“Yikes! Time to exit, stage right even!” Gearhead took off at top speed.

“That’s your left, ya bastard!” The witch proceded to try to shoot him down.

“Ah, but it’s stage right,” Gearhead said, easily evading with a series of spirals and flips. He knew the witch was probably thinking that a novice flyer should not be capable of such manouvers, and she would be right: Gearhead was, by no means, a novice flyer – although maneuvers were different with the core system, which allowed him to change direction at a thought, on a bit. With wings, Gearhead had to deal with inertia, and he had to keep flapping those wings.

Gearhead quickly realized that part of what he should be doing was getting his bearings, so when he evaded one salvo, instead of diving for the deck he climbed at a steep angle at full power. By the time the witch could have unleashed another blast on him, he was already weaving through the boughs forming the ceiling of the Everfree Forest. He burst through, and kept climbing for a bit longer before cruising on a forty-five degree angle from his ascending course, just to try to throw the witch off for a bit. Then he took a look around under the sun’s light. In doing so, he was able to ascertain that they actually were not too far from the witch’s tower: Gearhead recognized the mountain where he had met and freed Shadow Wright. Another quick turn confirmed the direction in which Ponyville lay.

Then the witch burst through the trees herself, and while she continued her climb even higher than Gearhead, she searched for, and found, him. As though sensing her eyes upon him, Gearhead dove, and this time he made for a powerdive straight toward the forest floor, dodging branches and birds as he went.

Gearhead pulled up just before he would have hit the ground, and with his wings spread wide, glided at high speed, using minimal banking to keep from hitting the trees and rocks and bears. The witch was somewhere behind him, but she was having trouble keeping up with his speed, he realized, seeing how her shots were almost always way off the mark. Is she overcompensating when she aims?

And then he felt the flow again. He knew it had not been that long since his magic cut out, but maybe with the way it, and his flight, activated, the cool-down time was just as long as the activation time. And Gearhead, marking his flight time more carefully, realized that it had been about 300 seconds since his magic cut out, and then he had activated his flight to cheat death. That was five minutes, and it meant he had seconds left in his flight time, if it also timed out.

Seconds? Gearhead pulled a tight vertical loop and then braked hard, flapping frantically. An instant later he was glad to have been able to see it coming, so that when he tumbled and fetched up against a rock, upside down no less, he did not end up hitting it very hard. Still, after what he had experienced, it felt like he had bruises on bruises.

The witch came screeching in, spell charged. “There’s nowhere left for ye to hide,” she said, and without further delay or signal, she fired.

Gearhead was ready with his standard shield, even without saying “Deflexio.” But the next step, he felt, would be appropriate with a little theatrics, if only to unnerve his opponent: I have five minutes, starting with that shield spell. This time I have a plan to make it count. “Cantus Bellax!” A column of turquoise energy climbed from Gearhead into the sky, before it swirled and contracted to glow tightly around him. Then, under his focused direction, a magic circle appeared behind him.

He shot a massive salvo of Magic Arrows at the witch, but like the one he had used in practice against Cadence, this was a mixed bag. First were 29 Light Arrows, which raced past the witch, only to quickly hook back and hit her shield from behind. Fully 23 further Lightning Arrows lanced in from the front, hitting the shield at the exact same moment. Nineteen more Light Arrows hit the shield like little sledges, striking between the Lightning Arrows. Cracks had already appeared in the shield, and now they were quickly spreading. A further five Wind Arrows hit the shield one after the other, and it shattered, without the benefit of being able to fall in a formation that would allow the shards to amplify a last, desperate salvo of shots. The last two Wind Arrows wound around the witch’s body, because they were Capturing Wind Arrows. If Gearhead had thought further, he could have reinforced the trap with more arrows, but he thought he would cut to the chase more easily by casting a different temporary spell, which would cause the witch’s thoughts to be scattered and random. Once her mind was in such a state, casting a spell would become impossible – for the few minutes of duration.

So while the witch was struggling futilely against her mental instability, Gearhead found a good patch of ground, and by using Read, found the materials he would need. Using his Geomancy, Gearhead created a small cart with a built-in restraining system for the witch. He then quickly levitated her onto it, and then secured her to it with the straps. There was also a snug hood that fit over, and pinched, her horn, continually preventing her from casting spells, even with Cloudy Thoughts worn off.

With the few minutes of magic he had left, Gearhead casted a spell to locate his friends. He did not need another spell to point him in the direction of Ponyville, since he still had his bearings. But he did need to get the cart underway, since he had some difficult climbing to do with it before he met up with the fillies again – and hoped they were okay.

And, because there did not seem to be a limit to the spells he could cast as long as his magic was active, Gearhead casted a simple healing spell on himself to treat his bruises and lacerations. Then he was on his way, pushing the cart ahead of him on the path.

Gearhead found Scootaloo and Apple Bloom standing in front of Sweetie Belle near the clearing where they had originally come to. He secured the cart so it could not roll away with the witch struggling against her bonds, and came over to investigate. The Earth Pony and Pegasus, he found, were doing everything they could to get the Unicorn to respond, but she just stood there, slack-jawed and empty-eyed, not responding at all to their antics. It was as though, to her, they did not exist.

“Let me try,” Gearhead said, picking his way over to his three friends. Immediately at the sound of his approach, Sweetie Belle turned her head. Gearhead saw her eyes go red again, and then she was charging at him!

“Oh,” Gearhead said, sidestepping the desperate rush. “I guess if the mind control stuck, so did the command.” He heard the witch laugh as Sweetie Belle came about for another attempt.

“Let her go!” Scootaloo and Apple Bloom shouted at the witch.

“I would, if ye untie me from this infernal thing,” the witch said.

“She’s lying,” Gearhead said, quick-stepping past brambles and into a root system that wound out from three different trees. “And you’ve got no protection against her mind control yourselves.”

“Then what do we do?” Scootaloo asked.

“The same thing that released you two,” Gearhead said, stepping higher onto the tangle from the trees.

“And that would be..?” Apple Bloom asked.

“You mean you don’t remember?”

“We remember everything from when we were being controlled,” Gearhead could hear the cringing in Apple Bloom’s voice: it was a very unpleasant memory, even for him, and he had not been one of the ones being controlled; he had been the attack target. As far as Sweetie Belle was concerned, he still was.

Gearhead tried holding back from evading as long as he could afford to, but when Sweetie Belle leaped in closer than he had thought she could, they both went down in a tangle of their own, and Gearhead twisted instinctively to cushion their fall better, only realizing as he did so that what had brought the others out of their trance states was a bump to the head. He was still cursing himself mentally as he watched Sweetie Belle’s face draw closer to his own.

And if he was surprised when their lips bumped, ever so briefly, he could only imagine how Sweetie Belle felt, her eyes shrinking in shock even as they returned to her normal green state. She immediately leaped off of him, apologizing profusely and blushing madly. “Nevermind,” Gearhead said, also getting up. “You weren’t in control of your actions. She was,” he said, nodding to the witch, who was still laughing.

“It’s great you’re so… entertained,” Apple Bloom said.

“Yeah!” Scootaloo chimed in. “You’re gonna go away for a long time.”

“Yet ye’ll never forget this day, nor what happened.” All mirth vanished from her voice and face in an instant. “And I’ll be remembering you,” the witch said, with all the threat she could muster.

“Aye?” Gearhead asked. “Much good it’ll do ‘ye,’ when I don’t have the same spells in mind for you next time, if there is one: Princess Celestia will be using different security measures this time around.”

“Much good that’ll do,” the witch spat.

“I’ve heard that before,” Gearhead said, silencing her barbs for the moment. He looked around. “Alright, before we make our way out of this place, let me heal your wounds.”

“You can do that?” Apple Bloom asked, while Sweetie Belle fidgeted behind her and Scootaloo. It’s past time for shyness, Gearhead thought. Get over it, otherwise others will pick up on our awkwardness. They’ll ask questions, and then what do you suppose will happen?

Rather than talk about it, Gearhead said “Cura,” and a healing wave ran over Apple Bloom’s body, causing all of her bruises and scrapes to vanish. Gearhead repeated the quick process with Scootaloo, and then finally Sweetie Belle stepped forward and he healed her as well.

“So how do we get outta here?” Scootaloo asked. “I wanted to climb the trees to get a better look, but neither of us could leave Sweetie Belle alone the way she was, in case there was some sort of attack.”

“Wise move, and I have our heading anyway,” Gearhead said. He would have to work on putting his activated powers on standby, so he wouldn’t waste his active time. He pointed toward Ponyville, then collected the cart and started pushing it down a path that ran in that direction. After a moment’s hesitation, the others joined him. They even switched places with him to help bring the witch in to Ponyville so she could be taken back to prison.

The foals quickly encountered a flight of Rainbow Dash’s Pegasi, patrolling the area after Gearhead’s rather showy magical battle with the witch, during which he happened to have triggered a number of beacon-like light geysers. It was because of this that the Crusaders were recovered more quickly from the Everfree Forest.

Princess Luna had come personally to see to the safety of her citizens, especially as the school-foals had vanished overnight, and she was the Guardian of the Realm during the night hours. She had her guards take the witch back into custody for immediate transfer to the prison in Canterlot, where every precaution would be taken to ensure she never escaped to trouble Ponyville again. Princess Luna had a short conversation with Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, and Sweetie Belle, meeting each privately, before approaching Gearhead.

“Is it not a good thing you’ve such good friends to motivate you?”

“Indeed it is, Princess Luna. This crisis pushed me beyond my limits, and there I have found new ones.”

“And new levels of friendship, I’d imagine. Would you have found your powers otherwise?”

“Perhaps eventually, but not as I have,” Gearhead realized the truth of it as he spoke. Unfortunately there was now no way to prove it: he had magic, and flight, although it worked differently from what he was used to.

In fact, he had decided that he had always possessed the potential for this power, but it had expressed itself differently before: he had always had some traits of the Pegasus and Unicorn tribes, as Discord had explained to him before. As the Earth Pony, Gearhead, his powers came through just as magic. As the Alicorn, Stardust, there were both magical and physical expressions, otherwise he would not be an Alicorn.

Gearhead’s most recent dream had helped to convince him that Stardust and Gearhead were, in fact, the same pony. My dreams? Gearhead looked more closely at the mare standing before him. She was the Guardian of the Night, after all. Gearhead did not know the full extent of her powers, but he did know that the greatest threat to Equestria while ponies slept was not of a physical nature. She guards ponies’ dreams!

Princess Luna smiled, and winked.

Of course! To walk ponies’ dreams, Princess Luna had to have considerable telepathic powers. That would allow her to find troubled sleepers and intervene, soothing their sleep – such as the sleep of a newly-turned Alicorn, troubled by visions of his own defeat and the fall of Equestria because he could not evoke his own powers. That meant that finding his powers now was not just the doing of the Cutie Mark Crusaders as his friends, but of Princess Luna as well!

<Also your friend,> Gearhead felt the comforting words as much as he heard them in his head, although he had not seen Princess Luna move her lips: she was giving him the slightest of demonstrations of her powers, confirming his thoughts even as he came to them. <That’s why you should call me ‘Luna.>’

Are you sure? You are one of the two most powerful royals in the world.

<I’m absolutely sure, Gearhead. Dusty.>

In this form, ‘Dusty’ is fine. We are, after all, the same.

<But do you truly believe that? If so, show it in the way you speak and act.>

I cannot, Gearhead gave Luna a wry mental grin. I am supposed to act like a foal in this form.

<So think that way, while you’re Dusty,> Luna advised. Gearhead decided to mull it over. While he could still sense Luna’s presence within his mind, she did not press him for a further response.

Luna returned to the other ponies, leaving Gearhead with his thoughts, and with the other members of the Crusaders who approached him now. “Everything okay?” Sweetie Belle asked. Gearhead noticed that all the awkwardness from before was gone, even though the four of them were essentially on their own.

“Yeah, everything’s okay,” Gearhead said. “There’s just one last thing bothering me.”

“What?” Apple Bloom asked.

“Who won the race?”

The fillies blinked at him, then burst out laughing: they had truly forgotten about the race, what with the witch appearing. It had turned into a very tense day, but now they were safe again. Any tension they might have been feeling flew away with their laughter.

Although, according to Cheerilee, the problem of the race had not completely gone away: after several hours of being unable to find the Crusaders’ team, she and the other volunteers had to to declare them ‘DNF,’ or ‘Did Not Finish,’ not having crossed the finish line under their own power. It was therefore determined that Aura’s team won, taking the top four spots. Liza’s team had come in fifth through eighth. The Crusaders’ social shame was compounded somewhat by the fact that in the intervening hours, the stairs had already been dismantled, so they could never truly finish the race. In order to salve their feelings, Cheerilee laid down a finish line ribbon on the ground approximately where the finish line had been, and allowed them to cross: they had been at the top, after all.

It turned out that there were others with a ‘DNF’ mark as a result of the race. Cheerilee would not tell the Crusaders who they were, but Gearhead could guess: they would mostly be those who were not working with a full team, so they could not help each other climb the taller levels. He could not easily imagine Tiara and Spoon working very well with others, considering their abrasive personalities. The only thing that could have made Tiara feel better was the Crusaders’ own DNF, which was now erased, replaced with the longest finish time possible. But they had finished, and this after an encounter with a witch.

None of them had gained a cutie mark either, but the Cutie Mark Crusaders had proven themselves to be an effective team when they wanted to be. They knew that, in part, because of their efforts against the Hydra, but the race had proven it again. What the witch had proven, Gearhead supposed, was that even the unlikeliest of the set could cover for the others’ weaknesses.

Perhaps Gearhead should have expected Fluttershy’s reaction to the danger to which he had been exposed as of late, despite her knowing his true identity. Neither he nor Twilight could convince the protective Pegasus to leave him alone, and so Gearhead decided a compromise was in order, and fell asleep in her embrace so she would stop fussing so excessively over him. The whole thing was embarrassing enough without Fluttershy continuing to pull him back into her lap. So he curled up and stopped protesting, and soon he was asleep.

He dreamed again of the two ponies, Gearhead and Stardust, flying and fighting together. As they wove in and out, it became harder to tell who was using what technique or equipment. He decided it did not matter, because they really were one and the same. After all, Luna had suggested that he start thinking that way. Maybe it was less stressful to truly believe it, just as he had concluded it would be better not to think of himself as just an Earth Pony.

When Stardust awoke, Fluttershy was still curled around him, unwilling to let go. He managed, by moving slowly and carefully, to extricate himself from the embrace of the mare’s wings and legs, and went behind the library. He needed someplace to practice which was out of the way. That it was barely dawn helped, since most ponies would still be asleep.

Stardust began by meditating into a state of flow. After the previous day’s battle, this was easy, and he felt the magic around and within him more fully. He chose a hardy target that could take his blasts, and began to unleash waves of Magic Arrows against it, increasing the count as he went until his magic timed out again, just as it had during the battle.

While he waited for his power to come back, Stardust meditated to try to find the flow again. It seemed that while his power was active, he could feel the flow with incredible completeness and clarity. That allowed him to use powerful spells that he couldn’t access as Gearhead. But once his magic timed out, he needed to wait five minutes before he could cast the simplest of cantrips again.

But the magic a Pegasus required to fly was not blocked during Stardust’s cooldown phase with his magic. This was something that seemed to act differently and separately, although experimentation revealed that Stardust could activate them together, and that when he did, a resonance between the tribe-based powers amplified both. It made sense, since the only examples of Alicorns he could think of were more powerful than the most powerful Unicorns, and better flyers than the best Pegasi.

Stardust also practiced trying to interrupt his activation time: if he could do that, and put his magic and flight on standby, he would not necessarily need to fret about running out of time so quickly: he would just put his power on standby whenever it was not needed, and allow his time to regenerate from there. But if he didn’t have any choice but to allow his time to exhaust itself every time, then he, and everyone he protected, would be vulnerable for the five minute cooldown period. It might not seem like a long time, but to Stardust it was an inexcusable weakness, and an exploitable opening.

Because the previous day had involved such an exhausting race, school was closed to allow the foals to recover. Stardust decided to use his time to research spells that could cover for his vulnerability. That meant focusing on spells that he could complete and connect with their targets in under five minutes, since if they took longer they would simply fizzle out and fail. He also wanted to find a spell that would make up for his form’s lack of size and strength. This one turned out to be easier, since he found a temporary aging spell so he could take the form he would have at Gearhead’s physical age. Stardust also decided to include other spells to change his appearance, so nopony could determine that it was Dusty participating in a battle or other heroic act.

After lunch, the Crusaders came to play. They had a ball to bounce between them, and some other simple games. Stardust knew that it would look strange if he didn’t play with his friends. He still sometimes did feel out of place playing with the fillies, however this was Dusty’s physical age. Remembering that helped him to have fun.

“So, no Crusader activities today?” He asked as they continued to pass the ball.

“We’ve decided to take it easy, after the race and the witch,” Apple Bloom said.

“B’sides, the Rainbow Dash Fan Club’s meeting tomorrow, and I’d like to be fresh and not covered in tree sap for that,” Scootaloo said. “You wanna join?”

“A club for Rainbow Dash fans? I know she’s the fastest Pegasus in Ponyville, but I don’t know if that warrants a fan club.”

“Who would you rather they have a fan club for? Fluttershy, maybe?”

“I know you can’t actually make fun of the Staremaster,” Stardust grinned. “And I can’t claim she and Miss Twilight haven’t been taking good care of me during my stay here. You ask me, each pony here has her or his own specialty, deserving of praise.”

“And that’s why we’re gonna get our cutie marks,” Sweetie Belle said.

“Not so we can know what our true talents are?”

“Well, that too, but who doesn’t want a little praise now and again?”

“I don’t know: if I was constantly after somepony’s approval I think it’d drive me nuts. And after what that witch did, I’d rather avoid nuts, at least for awhile.”

“Why, what did the witch do?” Sweetie Belle asked.

“You don’t remember?”

“Nuh-uh,” the others also shook their heads. If there was one pony who could do this, it was Luna. And if she thought it was important for the Crusaders to forget their ordeal with the witch, specifically that she had taken complete control of them, then who was Stardust to argue?

“It’s not important. How’s that script coming along, Sweetie Belle?”

“Slowly, but it’s coming,” she said. “Ooh, almost made me miss with that one.”

“Can’t get anything past you,” Stardust said, wondering if she remembered about their accidental bump. He wouldn’t count it as a kiss, since the intent had not been there, for either of them. Heck, she’d beein trying to kill him back then.

“Hey, you can use magic now, right?” Apple Bloom said, “how come you don’t use it more often?”

“Because I can’t use it all the time,” Stardust said. “Mine is even stranger than normal Unicorn magic, and not having matured yet, it has fine limits. Knowing that, I’m saving my magic for when I need it.”

“It’s just too bad we ended up losing the race,” Scootaloo said.

“We still finished it,” Stardust said. “Tied for thirteenth isn’t bad at all, considering it was several hours before we got back to cross the finish line.”

“I still wish I could remember what happened,”

“Don’t stress about it: if it’s important, you’ll remember it on your own.”

“I wanna be able to fly as soon as possible,”

“And use magic. What’s your trick?”

“It’s exactly like you said before, Sweetie Belle: you have to feel the flow.”

“Aww, that doesn’t help: I’ve been trying forever!”

“Would it make you feel better to stop trying?”

“No,”

“Then don’t,” Stardust bumped the ball with the side of his head, sending it to Scootaloo.

“So the club meeting, wanna come?”

“Maybe I’ll look into it, to see what’s what.”

The ponies took their places in the amphitheatre-style hall, the Speaker of the Herd seated on the lowest level, in the middle. Nearby, two Secretaries prepared to take notes. The Hall was located deep within a cave system, having been dug out with the help of the Conclave, and enchanted for security as well as for comfort. This was the place where Herd Council met to discuss business, both on a monthly or bi-monthly basis (depending on the pace of business), and for emergency sessions such as this one. The Hall was built to seat thousands, in anticipation of future growth within Herd Verdant. Today hundreds of Patriarchs and Matriarchs, representing branch- and side-herds, were all present.

All, it seemed, except for Verdant Redwood, the stallion who had actually called this meeting. The Patriarch of the main herd was late, and this alone was extraordinary. What happened next was more so, as Verdant Vines strode through the doorway and walked down to the middle of the room.

“Firstson Vines, what is the meaning of this breach of protocol?” The Speaker asked.

“My deepest apologies, Mr. Speaker,” Vines said. “It seems my honoured father, the Patriarch, is unable to make this meeting. It seems that a spot flood made a river on the route impassable before he could cross. It could take days to ford the river, so he decided to return to Verdant Fields rather than being late to an emergency session, which he himself called. But worry not, we do not have to waste our time and effort in coming here: I believe I know his intent here, today. That is, if the assembled Council would allow it?”

Glances were exchanged, along with words and short verbal signals. It was already past time, and nopony wanted their time wasted. “It is not unheard of for a Firstson to act in the Patriarch’s stead, especially as he is the Successor,” one of the older branch-herd Patriarchs said. He was also one of Vines’s staunchest supporters, being a traditionalist. There were many nods and murmurs. “I therefore move,” the old stallion said, “that Firstson Vines be permitted to stand in for Patriarch Redwood in this instance.”

“Is there a seconder?” Such a pony would show interest in the motion on the floor. If nopony seconded, the motion would be dropped right there.

“Seconded,” another traditionalist raised his right hoof.

“Would you like to speak to the motion?”

“Everything I would like to say has been said already. Lets stop lollygagging and get this business done, shall we?”

“Very well,” the Speaker had the First Secretary read the motion, and then called for a vote. It passed uninanimously, giving Vines the floor, since only he knew the business at hoof. The Sergeant-at-Arms on the inside of the chamber pulled a lever at a signal from the Speaker, and the massive double doors closed with an echoing boom. The meeting was now officially in session, meaning none could enter or leave until the session was closed.

“Firstson Vines, the Speaker recognizes you as capable of bringing the business of today’s meeting to the Council’s attention.”

“Thank you, Mr. Speaker, and how appropriate it is that you recognize me as the Patriarch’s Successor, because that is the matter the Patriarch wished to discuss with you today: he wishes to propose an alternative Successor.” The assembled ponies gasped, as Vines had predicted they would. “Now, I do not know exactly how the Patriarch intended to define his alternative, however we can infer what they might be and address each possibility as they currently stand.”

“Proceed, Firstone Vines, in the name of the Patriarch,” the Speaker intoned.

“First, I move that Thirdson Gearhead be considered as a Successor Candidate.” There were more gasps and murmurs, as it was known that Gearhead bore the mark of the Black Sheep, as recorded in the Codex itself.

“Seconded,” a Matriarch said. Vines knew that she did not like him: she thought he was too aggressive for his own good.

“Would you like to speak to the motion, Firstson Vines?”

“Thank you, Mr. Speaker. The main reason why I believe the Patriarch wishes to forward the Thirdson as a candidate is because he used moneys gained from the Thirdson’s business in order to begin an expansion of Verdant Fields. This expansion is of the East Field, in the eastern direction.” More murmurs.

“Yes, it is a direct expression of hope. The Patriarch then instructed me, his current successor, to deliver the fact of this action directly to the Thirdson at the Grand Galloping Gala, where he had reason to believe the Thirdson would appear, despite there already being a delegation from the Verdant. I discharged this duty to the full, however I am not aware of the Thirdson coming to speak to the Patriarch since.” Angry whispers. The ponies here now thought that Gearhead had been disrespectful to his father, when he could only be respectful.

“It is possible that the Patriarch feels that the Thirdson represents a new direction for the Verdant, however we are a Herd of tradition, and we have flourished in that tradition. It guides and protects us, and so there are many who will feel threatened by this new direction, and hesitate to follow it. And that hesitation could cost the Herd dearly. I intend to do only what is good for the Herd, and so I must ask whether the Thirdson being a leader would be good for the Herd.

“According to the records of activity since his birth, the Thirdson had been enthousiastic about taking on a farming task, but during his Naming, not only did he fail to carry any such acts out successfully, but he destroyed more than half a corn crop, and he damaged some others while the Patriarch carried him to the house. Since then, however, he has turned many aspects of his life around. The Thirdson repaired many pieces of equipment to better-than-new conditions. He invented and innovated new pieces of equipment, increasing the yield of our harvests many times over, and now he sends a great deal of money to be used for the benefit of the Verdant. He has therefore done a great deal to benefit the Herd. Despite this, he may not be suitable as a successor candidate, and all because of one fact, one mark against him.”

“The Black Sheep!” One pony shouted, and the call was echoed across the Hall.

“Indeed, the Thirdson is still a Black Sheep, not having earned the normal title. And why? Because he has never, in his entire life, farmed but a single stalk of a single crop. Being of the Verdant is to farm, and he has never farmed in his life!” Shouts and whispers flooded the hall. The Speaker had to pound his gavel to get the quiet necessary to proceed.

“Would anyone like to speak for or against the motion?”

“I speak against the motion: By what reason could we name a pony who has never farmed to the post of Successor, or even name him a candidate to the post? A Patriarch who cannot farm is an impossibility. Our next Patriarch must be able to lead the Verdant through his farming skills and knowledge. This Thirdson… does he believe he can get the title simply by throwing money at his family? We should not be duped by this sham.”

After that, nobody else wanted to speak for the motion, in favour of Gearhead. How could they, when they had heard all that mattered to most of the Verdant and to any traditionalist: Gearhead could not farm. The Speaker called for a vote, and the motion was defeated uninanimously. “Until the Thirdson can shed the title of Black Sheep, the Verdant cannot consider him as anything else,” the Speaker said, summing up everypony’s feelings on the issue. “Were there more possible candidates, Firstson Vines?”

“Yes, Mr. Speaker,”

“Proceed, then,”

“Very well. I move that Seconddaughter Ivy be considered as a Successor Candidate.” Despite the fact that Ivy was universally liked and well-respected, the angry murmurs came mostly from the camp that believed a Matriarch should never take charge of the entire Herd. Those who knew Ivy also knew that she lacked any sort of aggressive instinct. But the motion was seconded, just as the one for Gearhead had been, and Vines had the floor again.

“Seconddaughter Ivy is one of the most well-liked members of the main herd, and she is well-respected in her current supporting position. She has the natural poise and charisma necessary to lead others, and she has farmed all her life. She is intelligent, and beautiful, but she completely lacks ambition, and has shown overly too much kindness to those below her. Can she lead effectively, and mete our punishment when necessary, or will she bend on every issue? I love and respect the Seconddaughter as my younger sister, but I myself cannot say that she could be the leader we need in a Patriarch or Matriarch, should we open the candidacy to mares by giving her the title.”

This time there was loud discussion about opening up the successorship to mares. The traditionalists feared that doing so would open the leadership up to more mares like Ivy, who would be too soft to do what was necessary. The Matriarchs objected, saying there was nothing to substantiate that such things would happen, and they were correct: many farming families lived with matriarchies, and they were succeeding. But the Verdant had stood for many thousands of years as a Patriarchy, and that was unlikely to change now, even as the motion was defeated by the necessary two-thirds majority.

Vines’s final motion was to open up the candidacy to members of the side- and branch-herds, scouring their number for possible successors. But the fact that Vines did not know anypony who could possibly fill the Patriarch’s horseshoes better than he himself could put an immediate damper on the motion’s chances to succeed. In the eyes of the Council, too, Vines had done more right than wrong, including coming here today to cover for his missing father. “Those are all the possibilities,” Vines said, when the third motion was defeated, leaving him as the sole holder of the successorship.

“Are there any other possibilities?” The Speaker asked those assembled, and repeated the question twice more. When nopony spoke, he banged his gavel and pronounced the matter closed. “Is there any other business to discuss, while we are all present?” Naturally no one spoke, since this had been a hastily-assembed emergency session. No other business would have been added to the agenda, other than what the Patriarch had summoned the Council to address. And now it had been addressed, although the stallion in question had been absent. “In that case, this session is now closed,” and the Speaker banged his gavel a final time.

Before anypony could rise fully, the doors swung open to reveal a still-wet Patriarch Redwood, Ivy and the rest of his party in tow. “I am afraid you are too late, Patriarch, but worry not: the Firstson has presented each possible case, which we then handled fully,” the Speaker said.

Stunned, the Patriarch nevertheless strode up to the nearer of the two Secretary’s benches and read the meeting minutes. He reread them, and then again. “What have you done?” He asked Vines, his voice hoarse.

“I’ve secured the Herd’s future, my Patriarch, in your name.”

“If that’s the case, stagnation may be our future. Vines, Gearhead represents innovation, a new way for the Herd.”

“Yes, and I’ve represented that,”

“Truly, the Firstson spoke brilliantly,” the Speaker said, “but nopony can convince the Council to elect a Black Sheep. The Thirdson must be rid of that part of himself first.”

“And he may do that soon,” the Patriarch said, “but after that he’ll have to undo the precedent set here, before he can lead us forward. Vines, if you can do the same, and do it with the same level of compassion, then I will acknowledge you as truly, fully worthy and ready. For now I fear that you’re not,” and he glanced back at Ivy.

Ivy had tears streaming down her cheeks as she rushed forward to embrace her older brother. Stunned, he allowed her to hold him a moment longer than he would have otherwise, before pushing her back. “You can be so cruel,” Ivy said, fresh tears flowing.

“What is this about?” The Speaker asked.

“’This’ is a matter for the main herd to iron out,” the Patriarch said, “at home and in private.” To Vines he said, “come, you’ve done what you set out to do. Lets all go home.”

Indeed, Vines had done exactly what he had planned to do, and what was more, he had ensured his dear sister was not present to blunt his words or actions. Vines had never felt so free to do as he desired before, and he liked that feeling. He had enjoyed Ivy’s company before, but now he was starting to see her more fully as their father’s tool against him: blunting blades, banking fires, keeping him controllable. Not anymore. From here on out, Vines would do things his way, on his own if Ivy did not comply with his plans. Next Chapter: 11. Hero's Glory Estimated time remaining: 10 Hours