10. Vanelda

Octavia’s breathing hitched in tiny wet spurts. “Y-you’re b-both evil.”

Voron laughed. The sound reverberated through Vinyl’s head like somepony was banging a metal drum inside her skull.

“Silly filly.” She didn’t need to see Vellum to know she was rolling her eyes. “Evil’s just a label. Don’t you know that labels are soooooo out of fashion these days? I mean, you wouldn’t like it if I called you, say, weak.”

Octavia cried out in tandem when the sound of a slap.

“Or pathetic.”

Another cry.

“Or a fucking sneak-thief who stole my big sister and poisoned her fucking mind!” Vellum shrieked, all trace of humour suddenly gone from her voice. “It’s your fault she left us! If she had never met you, none of this would have happened! We’d have stayed a family!”

The sounds of violence were more than Vinyl could take, but her traitorous body refused to respond to her commands. Any movement was completely beyond her as she struggled to even breathe.

Reprieve came from an unexpected source.

“VELLUM!” Voron thundered. “Desist!”

Vellum let out her own cry of pain. Something struck the wall and then the floor in short order, and the air was filled with a lattice of pained whimpers from the two downed mares.

“I did not give you permission to harm her!”

“B-but Daddy –”

“Your antics cease to be amusing when they flout my authority! She is our bargaining chip. Or did you forget that?”

She squealed again. For some reason Vinyl took no satisfaction in the sound of their father’s hoof striking her. “I’m sorry!”

“Petty vengeance will not put our family back together again.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy! Please forgive me! I wasn’t thinking! You’re right! You’re always right!”

Voron grunted. “Vanelda, why have you stopped?”

“Sweet Celestia. Is she breathing?” Panic laced Octavia’s voice. “Please no. Celestia, please, no, no, no –”

“Do not utter that nag’s name in my presence!” Voron snapped. “Celestia’s days are numbered. You would do better to start swearing by my name than by hers, since my family shall soon be the ruling house in this land.”

“Wh-what?”

“The age of Celestia is over. Not even the return of her sister or the ascendance of her students can stop the rise of the House of Verchovski. She may have clawed some family out of the dirt, but my children are far more numerous. And alicorns,” he added, clearly savouring every word, “bleed just the same as everypony else. All it would take is one opportunity … one bite … and anypony is my prey, royal blood or not.” He chuckled. “I am eager to see if royalty tastes any sweeter than the blood of peasants or nobility.”

“Y… you’re mad,” Octavia whispered. “Totally insane. You can’t possibly think you could take on the princesses.”

“Celestia’s rule rendered my people a frugal life fighting over scraps in the mountains while ponies roamed freely and without predators under her protection in this lush land. He interrupted the natural order of things by protecting you weak creatures. Why should ponies be the only species to escape the natural cycle? Why should vampires be so thoroughly banished that every mare, stallion and foal thinks them nothing but mere legend? Well I say no more!” Voron snarled. “With my children, I shall wrest this land from Celestia and her filthy alicorns! Then the age of the vampires can begin when they are gone!”

“This is why you want Vinyl back so badly?” Octavia’s voice was so hoarse that Vinyl could barely hear it over the pounding in her ears. “You’ve done all this because you want to pit her against the princesses?”

“My children are mine to do with what I will,” Voron announced.

“You can’t make her take on four bloody alicorns alone!”

“She will not be alone. Far from it.”

“Yeah,” Vellum piped up.

“You?” Octavia was clearly incredulous. “Her? You think she’ll be enough to turn the odds in your favour? At least with Vinyl I could understand your thinking, but sending a little pegasus against four alicorns? That’s ludicrous. Especially one so tiny and weak looking. And you, you’re just an earth pony!”

Vellum hissed.

“Well you are weak. You were barely able to hold me down when he was … was drinking from me before.” Octavia’s voice wavered as she spoke, but a strange kind of firmness coated her tone like a coating of liquid steel.

Tavi, what are you doing? Vinyl thought desperately. Shut up already! Don’t say anymore!

“And I’m just a plain old earth pony – and not one with muscles who works the land either. I don’t even have magic, and you think you’ll stand any kind of chance against Celestia and Luna? Not to mention Princess Cadence and Princess Twilight. Princess Cadence has the might of the whole Crystal Empire behind her and Twilight Sparkle is pretty much the most powerful pony who ever lived. They’ll shrug you off like an ugly coat.”

Tavi, you’re not this stupid!

Vellum’s growl was a feral noise straight out of a nightmare.

“If your father’s plans hinge on you, then he may as well run back to the mountains now with his tail between his legs, because the age of vampires will never happen if you’re the best they have to offer.”

The growl rose to a screech of pure rage. “You -” The vowels devolved into nothing more than a shriek and a mad flutter of wings.

“Vellum, stop!” Voron roared.

Too late.

There was a wet ripping sound and the slosh of liquid. Octavia let out a screaming gurgle Vinyl recognised from all the years she went hunting with Vellum.

Her mind thinned to a silent scream that went on and on and on, wrapping around every thought and squeezing them into the same shape.

Tavi, NO!

“And what, pray tell, brings you to my shop, traveller?”

Vanelda threw down the bag of coins, spilling its contents across the counter. The shopkeeper’s eyes went wide at the sight of gold. Judging by the amount of stock crammed into this place, he didn’t make many sales, and certainly it had been a long time since he had seen money like this.

“The Grimoire of Assidua Shadowhoof,” she hissed.

The hoof that had been teasing a coin from the bag froze in mid-motion. “I think you are mistaken. That book does not exist, traveller.”

“It does and I know you have it.” It had taken months to ascertain that the Grimoire of the dark mage was more than mere myth, and extreme pains to locate a genuine copy of her book, but Vanelda knew this was the place and that he was lying to her. All manner of items that ‘did not exist’ littered its shelves. A book written by Starswirl’s the Bearded’s disgraced student was not the most unusual thing within these walls.

“Assidua Shadowhoof is nothing more than a fairytale to scare naughty foals into eating their alfalfa,” the shopkeeper said. “There is no historical evidence that-”

“Look, how about we stop this before we even start it? I know she existed. I’ve spent a long time verifying that fact. I know her book is real and that it is proof beyond doubt that there are such things as curses, and I also know that’s why no copies were ever made and its very existence was hushed up by the Equestrian government so long ago than not even they remember why anymore. So how about we cut the crap and you just fork over what I want for the price I’m willing to pay for it. Then I won’t have to either bring the Royal Guard down on this place like a ton of bricks or torch it to the ground myself.”

It had taken nearly as long to steal that money as it had taken for her to traverse Equestria by her father’s side and formulate this plan. It was a ridiculously risky plan, but it was the best she could do and had taken months upon months of careful preparation to even get this far. She knew this was her first, last and only chance at saving herself from her father’s designs for her and finally, finally getting the normal life she desired more than anything else in this whole damn world.

The shopkeeper stared at her. She resisted the urge to retreat further into her hooded cape. She could not be denied this chance, damn it!

“Wait here,“ he muttered eventually.

Her ears flicked forward, listening for any hint of betrayal. Yet he returned a few moments later bearing a small, unassuming book bound in black. There was nothing written across its front or spine. Had it not been for its obvious age, it might have been mistaken for anypony’s address book.

“Thank you,” Vanelda snapped, scooping it up and taking her leave.

“It won’t work, y’know,” he called after her. “I’ve tried every single thing written in there and none of them work.”

“We’ll see. Maybe you just didn’t want them to work enough.”

“Well you arrogant little–”

The door shut on what he was about to say.

However, Vanelda would have been lying to herself if she said his warning did not cross her mind as she stood in the forest clearing and chanted the incantation until her throat was raw. She ended her last repetition by punching the ground hard enough to leave a dent and shedding angry tears.

“Why won’t you work?” she demanded of the book. “Why!?” She threw it across the clearing, falling to her knees and biting back a scream. “Why am I never allowed to be happy?”

The image of a smiling grey mare fizzled through her mind. Clenching her jaw, she got up and fetched back the book, then picked up a stick and painstakingly drew the arcane symbols on the ground one more time, copying the illustration in the book exactly. When it was complete, she stood in the centre and sucked in a breath, pulling up every torturous memory of her father she could bear to remember – and many she couldn’t. These were the reasons she was doing this. She crystalised that thougth and balanced it in her mind like a knife edge ready to cut the ties that bound her to him once and for all.

“Please let this work. Please, please, please let this work. I deserve to be happy. I do!” She closed her eyes and repeated the words she had been saying all evening, pouring every ounce of resolve into each syllable.

Octavia –

Pain ripped through her. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. Her insides were on fire. Her brain was made of molten lead. Every single hair on her body sent up a cacophony of pain so visceral that she vomited back the meagre contents of her stomach and lay on the ground trying to retch up food that wasn’t there. She raked at herself with her hooves, instinctively trying to open herself up to let the hurt out. Blood splattered the ground. A pushing, shoving, compressing feeling swept through her, and in its wake she felt empty, as if some integral part of her was suddenly gone.

No, not gone; merely buried so deep inside her that she couldn’t sense it anymore.

It wasn’t enough, but though she tried to say the words again, the connection would not break. It only stifled, leaving her mind curiously … empty.

She could not feel her father’s presence anymore.

Utterly spent, she flopped to the ground, unable to even open her eyes. Streaked in sweat, dirt and her own vomit, her triumphant smile remained fixed on her lips. It was still there when she awoke, unaware until that moment that she had passed out.

A timber wolf blow hot breath into her face.

It must have been attracted by the noise. She bared her fangs at it, letting it know it was facing another apex predator. Yet the sting of elongating teeth did not come. Her eyes did not prickle into full red. She hissed, but it was the weak hiss of a newborn kitten, and the light from the timber wolf’s glowing green eyes hurt to look at, but the rest of it was bathed in gloom she could not see through. She was practically blind in the night’s darkness.

She wanted to laugh. She wanted to whoop and yell with delight. Yet she could do nothing but hang limply as the gigantic timber wolf picked her up and carried her away. Its sharp wooden teeth cut into her sides, eliciting a groan of pain.

The irony of her situation was too cruel. Here she had finally done the impossible and her reward was to be a meal for some creature made of twigs and leaves?

The sound of rushing water signalled that the wolf was trotting along the riverbank. Well, at least it was taking her further away from Canterlot. She hoped her father never found her body. She would die a mortal pony, or as close as she could to being one. If nothing else, she had reclaimed that part of herself at last.

Suddenly the timber wolf stopped. A growled reverberated up its throat and through her. A similar growl echoed from ahead of them and a set of glowing green eyes stepped out of the underbrush. The two timber wolves circled each other, clearly vying for the prey the first had caught. Vanelda jerked and swung as the second wolf snapped, trying to grab her out of the first one’s jaws. The first wolf snarled, lifting its head to keep her for itself. Her hind legs flopped about uselessly, but her forelegs were locked around the book held to her chest as if her muscles were made of stone. The second wolf raised itself onto its forelegs, the better to snatch her away, but left its belly exposed. The wold holding her lashed out with its claws, sending a spray of wood exploding away from them. The second wold howled and staggered back, forelegs smacking the first wolf in the face by accident more than design.

And then Vanelda was in the air. She flew to a zenith and then began her descent. She fully expected to die splattered against the ground, and so was doubly surprised when she was instead enveloped in water. Her head broke the surface with a gasp and she struggled weakly to stay afloat and hold the precious book out of the water as she was carried away by the current.

No! I won’t die like this! she thought grimly. I refuse to die like this! not now! Not after everything I’ve been through to get this far!

Her horn burned like there were red hot needles being pushed through her forehead and into her brain, but she forced her way through the pain barrier and buoyed herself upwards enough that she wouldn’t drown. She didn’t have enough strength to get herself to shore, but she could at least keep herself from drowning or crashing against rocks that would shatter her suddenly fragile body to pieces.

By the time she washed up on shore she was more miles away than she could count. Her magic fizzled and died, leaving her coughing and panting in a mudbank amidst the debris that had collected there.

She didn’t know how long she lay there. It may have been minutes. It may have been hours. The world became nothing more than a freezing, hazy collection of half-numb sensations and things that might have been dreams or could have been reality.

“… sweet Celestia…”

“… ambulance…”

“… worry sweetheart, the paramedics are on their …”

“… just found her laying there…”

“… no identification…”

“… Jane Doe …”

She awoke to a sterile room and the sense that she should have been smelling disinfectant even more strongly than she could. Noises clattered but they were distant and indistinct in a way sound never had been for her before. She blinked up at the ceiling, trying to gather herself together piece by fragmented piece.

“Ah, you’re awake,” said a cheerful voice.

“Hmm?” With effort, she turned her head. A yellow pony in a nurse’s cap leaned over her, beaming like she had pulled Vanelda back from the edge of oblivion personally. “Bwuh?”

“It’s okay, chickadee, just relax. You’re in the hospital.”

“Hosp’tal?” The word had a blurry quality thanks to her excessively dry mouth. She coughed. Her whole body hurt with every movement.

“Hold steady there,” the nurse soothed. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“M’book…”

“Your book? It’s in your personal effects locker. We practically had to crowbar that smelly old thing from you when you cvame in. it must be mighty important.”

Vanelda fell back against the pillow, gasping slightly for air. “’Tis. Vey impor’nt.” She swallowed. “Wa’er?”

“Water? Here you go, now sip it slowly through the straw.”

She drank gratefully and greedily until the nurse pulled the glass away.

“Now, chickadee, I’m going to need you to answer me some questions, okay? Do you think you’re up to that?”

“Mrrf.”

“Nothing too taxing. First off, I need to know your name, chickadee.”

She froze. “I … I …” Struck by sudden inspiration, she finished: “I don’t remember.”

The nurse frowned. “Oh dear. Do you remember what you were doing in the water three nights ago?”

Had it really been three nights already? Daddy would be livid. She froze again as the thought struck her that she didn’t have to call him that anymore. She could call him by his actual name. She didn’t have to acknowledge his hold over her any longer.

Voron wold be livid.

The thought was new and thrilling.

Voron did not know where she was.

Without the connection to her mind, Voron could not find her.

Voron would think she was dead after the connection broke, since the only reason his blood link with his children ever broke was when they died.

“Is that a smile I see? Do you remember your name, chickadee?”

She forced the smile away. “No. I just … I’m happy I’m alive.”

The nurse beamed. “You should be, you had a real lucky escape, doncha know. Uh, I don’t suppose you can remember the name of somepony we could call to, ah, come fill out some forms with your personal details, do you?”

One name appeared in her mind. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to say it.

“Octavia Philharmonica.”