“Well,” Doug deadpans, “I breathe in, and my heart beats, and-”

“No, no, no,” Rarity blurts out, rubbing at her head and horn. “Everything has magic. Every. Thing. This rock?” Rarity’s horn lights a cornflower blue, levitating a small pebble to Doug. “It has more magic inside it than you.”

“Okay,” Doug says neutrally. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, I’m just curious as to how applicable it is.”

“Magic is in everything,” Rarity explains as if repeating a mantra she learned as a filly, still not quite believing what her horn revealed. “Magic is a part of everything. Every function, every process, from the tiniest gust of wind to the raising and setting of the sun itself. The more complex the process, the more magic involved.” She takes a deep breath, her expression becoming a little more guarded. “In fact, it would be more likely that you have some ability to disguise your magical presence, your thaumic signature, than for you to have none at all.”

“What can I say,” Doug says with a casual shrug. “I’m a creature of chemical processes, burning carbohydrates into energy. And I get those from eating plants, which get their energy from the sun, which will run out of raw material in a couple billion years or so. “

“No, all of that sounds correct, though the lifespan of the sun is something you would need to discuss with Princess Celestia.” Rarity starts walking again, Doug quickly catching up. The two follow the tracks as they turn a bit to the south, rapidly approaching a river running east to west.

“But, magic isn’t really a part of that equation. I mean, it’s possible that I have some hitherto unknown ability that masks my magical signature or whatever, but I don’t know anything about it.” Doug flexes an arm, curious if it actually is the case that he has some special ability that might manifest itself here.

Rarity nods along. “I must treat this as if it were a mystery! As if I - the humble dressmaker Rarity - am in fact the fabulous Shadow Spade, logically picking through the minutiae until only the correct solution remains.” She opens her saddlebag, a black fedora with a pink ribbon levitating out. She inspects the hat with the slightest frown, a hoof flicking off the tiniest speck of dust. “The fact that precious little clothing or accessories will be involved merely heightens the need for my deductive expertise.”

She brought that hat along? I suppose it works as a sunshade. “It’s a pretty simple explanation, actually,” Doug says. Rarity’s ear twitches as she dons her hat. “You see, three or so billion years ago, life originated from chemicals mixing around into simple single celled organisms, which evolved over a vast amount of time through the integration of small mutations into the complex and varied life we have today.”

One of Rarity’s eyes briefly scrunches up. “That qualifies as simple?”

Doug shrugs. “Well, another explanation would be that God, or some other infinitely powerful entity, just up and plopped down an entire world, complete with memories and evidence of past events that never actually took place.”

Rarity looks around as they cross the bridge over the river, the White Tail Woods receding off to the northwest. “Darling, don’t take this the wrong way, but that sounds entirely fictional.”

“Sure,” Doug concedes, “and I wonder what your origin stories are like.”

“Nopony knows,” Rarity says cryptically, letting the brim of her hat drop down to better shroud her face. “Some eleven hundred years ago a being of pure chaos known as Discord ruled.” She stands up, waving her forelegs around theatrically, as if she was the marionettist pulling the strings. “He drew enjoyment from tormenting ponies, and warped the land and sky to what it is today.” She settles down, taking a slight bow to the sun, “Ponies, and all creatures, owe their lives to Princess Celestia and her sister for imprisoning him and restoring Harmony to the land.”

“Magic can really throw that big a wrench in things?” Doug asks, frowning. “But I suppose that also demands the question, ‘how does magic work’?”

“Well,” Rarity says as the ground underneath them turns from grasslands to a dusty brown, “the simplified explanation is that the more thaums - which is, of course, the base unit of magic - that a creature possesses, the more powerful she is. The more she can influence her environment. It provides a, how shall I say, boost that can manifest as increased intelligence-” she taps her skull “-or certain abilities-” her horn lights “-or even raw strength.” Rarity flexes a foreleg, though the muscle doesn’t seem to move much.

“Okay,” Doug says patiently, “but how does that work?”

Rarity asks rhetorically, “How does a hoof lift an object?” She continues before Doug can object that hooves really shouldn’t work that way, “By exerting her will, either through muscles or magic, and the resulting force moves the object.”

“I’m hearing words,” Doug says as nicely as he can, “but I’m left just as confused as before as to the actual mechanics behind this.” He holds up his arm. “My brain sends a signal through my nerves to my arm, telling a set of muscle cells to contract. This acts as a force on the surrounding tissues, bones, and ligaments.” He flexes his arm, bicep getting larger while his forearm raises. “How does magic duplicate that feat?”

“Why, it works the same way,” Rarity says, her horn lighting. “I merely pick the thaumic signatures I wish to influence, and without some counteracting agent they simply do what I wish them to do. I expend a certain amount of thaums to do so - temporarily of course, and the pool of available thaums and speed at which they recover is unique to every mare. The simplest method, one unicorns learn from a very young age, is levitation or telekinesis.” She raises a few of the surrounding rocks into the air, then proceeds to juggle them, her blue aura appearing and disappearing as she tosses them about. “Exerting a force on an object using only thaumics.”

“Can you lift me?” Doug asks, intrigued. “If I don’t have the requisite magical core or whatever, it shouldn’t work, right?”

“Mm,” Rarity’s muzzle purses. “Rocks are in fact easier to influence than, say, an animal, because you don’t have the creature’s stronger magical field to contend with. I can levitate a hundred individual pins and needles, but I would struggle with a dozen insects of similar size, to say nothing of attempting with a dozen critters. Though with you lacking a core entirely?” She looks thoughtful for a moment. “Would you like me to try?”

“Sure,” Doug says, holding out his arm. “Thanks for asking for permission first.”

“Of course,” Rarity says, a blue aura surrounding Doug’s arm. When her aura surrounded an object it generally contoured itself to that object, but the blue surrounding Doug seems to warp randomly, pushing his arm around. “That’s odd,” Rarity says with a frown. “I don’t feel any feedback, like I would on an ordinary object. Not even the constant rejection that comes with lifting a pony. Nothing.”

“Well, I definitely feel something,” Doug says. It’s like someone is pushing against his arm with an entire table, a constant pressure from a single direction that occasionally changes to push the other way.

“Just another piece of the puzzle,” Rarity says with a smile, touching a hoof to her hat. “Disguising your thaumic signature so completely would be quite a boon against an unsuspecting investigator, but against one who knows what to look for? An ability of that sort would be worse than useless. As well, it draws attention to yourself should anypony scan for it, and not in a good way. You’d be better off mimicking a creature of similar ability’s signature.”

“You can do that?” Doug says as the small rocks around them turn into somewhat larger boulders. They follow a path leading lower and lower, weaving their way back and forth as they get closer to the Gorge.

“Well, no, not normally.” Rarity touches a hoof to her chin as they come to a stop, “Plus, scanning a pony in such a way is not a common thing to do. Similar, in fact, to leering at a pony’s belly. There aren’t any laws against it, but it’s seen as rude, because the exact measurement of a pony’s thaumic pool is unnecessary except in the most competitive of fields, such as a professional hoofball team. And even then it serves as a poor indicator of how skilled a pony is, or how competent they can become. Though as a general rule it is most certainly true.”

“So,” Doug says as he looks around, unable to tell the reason why they stopped, “the less intelligent critters don’t have as much magic as a pony, but more than the grass, which has more than the dirt. And I have none.”

“Correct, and you can see for yourself.” Rarity’s horn lights, her eyes turning white again, though projecting the image visibly drains her. The brown rocks barely flicker, a dark gray superimposed over their normal color. The saddlebags on her back are a dull blue, barely more colorful than the rocks. Rarity herself is a brilliant blue, shining so bright it’s difficult to look at her. And Doug, when the field shifts to between his eyes and his arm, is a black void.

“Huh,” Doug says, twisting his arm and watching the image duplicate the movement.

“Which makes you quite interesting,” Rarity says as she stops channeling, normal pigments returning. “Normally, without magic, things… cease.”

“Cease?” Doug says, his own face scrunching up. He can feel a headache approaching, like his mind is about to be blown again, and it’s not even lunchtime.

Rarity’s tone gets darker. “Halt. Stop. Die. Plants may grow on their own, because they innately possess a minute magic of their own. But an earth pony can spread her far more abundant magic and accelerate the process. Surely Applejack has demonstrated that to you at Sweet Apple Acres, though she may not have consciously thought to do so.”

Doug nods, remembering the seed. “She has.”

“A certain… villain used forbidden magic to drain ponies of their power.” Rarity grimaces at telling the story. “Those afflicted so got weaker, no stronger than a newborn foal, their cutie marks disappearing as their magic fueled the tyrant’s insatiable appetite. After he was stopped by Princess Celestia and her sister the ponies' magic returned, along with their abilities and strength.” Rarity shrugs. “I cannot think of a more applicable argument as to the necessity of magic in everyday life.” Her eyes go wide as she grins mischievously. “Except one.”

Doug’s mouth stretches to a wide, forced smile. “And now you’re going to tell me something that will invalidate all of my previous knowledge, forcing me to rebuild from the ground up.”

“If Princess Celestia didn’t raise the sun in the morning,” Rarity explains carefully, “it would cease its motion around Equus, leaving half of the world condemned to a slow, roasting death. The other half would have a chance of survival under Luna’s moon, though I dare say wars would be fought over the available earth ponies, who would live either as nobles or as slaves.”

“...Yeah,” Doug says, his eyes wide. “That’ll do it.” His eyebrows scrunch up. “But, wouldn’t that mean that gravity would take over, sending Equus and the moon hurtling towards the sun?”

“Discord had a twisted sense of humor,” Rarity says darkly. Her hooves slowly rotate around her, staying on opposite sides of her body. “According to Princess Celestia, were she to stop, the rotation of Equus would exactly match the orbit of the sun and moon around it. Of course, that is all speculation, though I have read more than one magazine article from burgeoning scholars that praises the Mistress of the Sun for her sacrifice in performing her duties. Now, Princess Celestia is not unique in having the ability to shift the skies, though she jealously guards it against any usurpers.”

Doug nods, if slowly. “This is a lot to take in,” he says, planting the shovel and spade in the ground before sitting on a rock and inspecting his feet. The jackboots have held up remarkably well, and he takes one off to check for blisters or redness. “Are we close?”

“We are here,” Rarity says, her horn lighting and revealing a cache of many differently colored gemstones under her hooves. She smiles softly. “We can get an early start, or break for lunch.”

“Lunch sounds great,” Doug says. “I suppose time passed by quickly, huh.”

“I suppose it did,” Rarity readily agrees as she sits next to him. Not many unicorns, much less ponies, enjoy such an esoteric and theoretical discussion. And I wouldn’t have pegged myself as such a unicorn, either. Curiouser and curiouser.

Next Chapter: Ch. 30 - Craiceann's Pincers Estimated time remaining: 12 Hours, 16 Minutes