Octavia, in all her years of playing and listening to music, had never heard anything like the sounds that came out of the dragon's giant golden cello. The instrument itself appeared to be fashioned from pure gold, but the metal was still strong enough to stand up to the force of his playing. Its design was curious, including at least one part that seemed to fold in on itself and another that somehow made the parallel strings intersect. At least one of the cultists was reduced to a gibbering huddle of fur and drool after pondering for too long how that was possible. What interested Octavia the most was the sound. Every note was pure, as though it was plucked from the air between the strings and carried straight to your ears. The cello did not use a resonance chamber, and as he played she saw him tweak little knobs and tap panels that caused the runes etched upon its surface to swell or ebb. As the runes changed, so did the sounds of the instrument. It was a fascinating marvel of magic and music, a pure conduit from the performer's soul.

Perhaps Vinyl would have understood the sorcerous mysteries, she did have a knack for that sort of thing, but Octavia understood the utility of such an instrument. It removed as many obstacles as possible. No concession was made to the laws of physics or even common whims of magic. Everything on the instrument served the purpose of the musician, and the cello also attempted to bend its surroundings to further that purpose. The acoustics of the room, the distance between the listener and the performer, such things were irrelevant. Complete control over the sound produced by the instrument was in the dragon's claws, with no sacrifice of quality. By some unspeakable magic or incomprehensible mechanism, the instrument dominated the area and subjugated all things to its purpose. That trait alone, that inherent assertion of supremacy, marked it as the creation of a dragon. The instrument was a more perfect rendition of the abstract ideal of a cello.

Even more impressive than the realization that such an instrument could exist was the music the dragon ripped from it. His playing was harsh and violent, every stroke of the bow merciless. The sounds that gushed forth were hard, unyielding, but rang with a touch of sorrow. Individual notes cracked stone and bent the twisted remains of the plants, while each movement sculpted the atrium in terrifying ways. Lattices that had once held plants turned to skeletal ribcages, capped with trios of strange skulls that drooled magma. Shoddy patches of wood turned to riveted plates of steel, each one etched with a different depiction of a triumphant dragon. The suite sounded like the death-song of an entire race, a lament and a battle cry, yet it was still beautiful in a strange way. She could certainly appreciate how difficult it was to play.

When the music swelled, she felt her mane and tail whip back as wind twirled around the atrium, spinning the floating rocks. There was raw power in his performance, and her heart quailed to think of what damage he could do if that power was loosed. But she could also sense the gaps in his playing. Little missed notes, and minor mistakes. The dragon was good, no doubt, but he was weak right now. He still had not fully emerged from the pit of magma. Her domitor had been right. Octavia wondered how the music might sound if he was truly at his best, then banished the thought. He was her enemy, and she knew what to do to enemies. If the dragon was weak she could take full advantage of his weakness and destroy him utterly. That was her job. Her duty. A small torrent of rocks fell from the ceiling above, breaking through the shield and crashing down near a few cultists. They scattered away, screaming in terror.

As the song drew to a close, the dragon opened his eyes. His tail poked above the lava, and waggled back and forth. It was just as skeletal as the rest of him. With a final flourish, he lifted his bow from his cello and bowed.

Scoffing Song applauded for all her hooves were worth, as did the cultists and guards. "Bravo! Bravo, wonderful! Well, that settles that, we've heard all we need to, now kill the mudpony."

The Carpathian snorted another gout of flame in her direction. "Be still. I was not performing for your pleasure." He yawned, scratched his back with his spiked tail, and smiled malevolently down at the challenger. "The stage is yours, little gray cellist. I have great expectations."

Octavia had already begun unpacking her cello. It was still in pristine condition, thanks to the well-made case designed to protect it against the mayhem of her adventures. This instrument was old and well-loved, but nowhere near as grand as the eldritch cello used by the dragon. While assembling her instrument she glanced up. By chance her eyes caught those of a gryphon staring down from a cracked window high above. He appeared frantic. She forced a smile and straightened her bow tie. Rollins is such a worrywart... but she was a little nervous as well. His concern was touching, and it was reassuring to know he had not thrown her at the problem to buy himself time to fly away. She was not expendable in his eyes, and that gave her a boost of confidence. Then she realized he was waving a claw upward, and when her eyes looked where he was pointing she noticed a crack slowly spreading across the ceiling high above. Instinct took over, and she slid herself and her instrument out of the way not a moment too soon. The ceiling groaned and a chunk fell free, smashing down not far from where she had been. Shaken but unbowed, Octavia stood upright on her hind legs and gripped her bow and cello firmly.

"Hmm, it seems that even without opposable thumbs, you little creatures find a way." The dragon patted his great gold cello, and smirked at her little wooden one. "Show me what passes for music amongst your misbegotten kind!"

Just as Octavia was about to begin, a cloud shifted in the sky high above. A beam of sunlight fell through the gap in the ceiling, somehow brighter than the hellish glow that filled the atrium, and spotlighted her. She felt a sense of calm, and knew that not only were her friends counting on her, something greater was too. Though she might fight ancient dragons, she was not alone. This was her part in Harmony, and she must play her part to the best of her ability.

"Well, that was quite excellent, old dragon." She smiled brightly. That little nap had rejuvenated her, and the journey through her mind had ultimately strengthened her resolve. It had been a long, hard struggle, but here she stood at the final battle. Everyone who mattered was watching. The dragon, Rollins, even Scoffing Song, all waited for her performance. Her domitor would see all of this as well, through her eyes the next time the vampire partook of her ghoul's blood. The cellist would not disappoint them. "But sit down against that rock right there, and let me show you how it is done."

Octavia played, all the years of her life flowing out through her cello. It was not her first time performing for high stakes, and she suspected it would not be the last. Every movement of her body was under tight control, every touch of the bow upon the strings just the way she wanted it. Perhaps her instrument was not a masterwork from an age of unimaginable advancements, but her discipline was ironclad. Her fetlocks felt almost weightless, one moving up and down the strings, the other back and forth with the bow. Her entire life had been preparing her for this moment. Each little tragedy and victory had shaped her into the mare she was today, the mare who was putting everything on the line to defend Equestria. The dragon's hungry stare was nothing compared to the way Vinyl would sometimes drool and giggle. The Daughter's cruel glare was pathetic compared to the utter lack of love in her mother's eyes. The stunned expressions on the faces of the cultist rabble were almost amusing. None of them even had the presence of mind to boo or chant, they merely stood with slack jaws.

All her life she had been surrounded by those who did not understand why she endured so much to play her music until they heard her put bow to cello. She had become accustomed to proving herself through her music to all who doubted her. Music had sustained her, had given her a means to provide for herself and enrich the lives of others. Her playing was how she had survived all those many years before Vinyl had healed her. Music was how the gray mare kept her sanity as she fought through night after night of ever worse horrors. The magic power of music that flowed through her heart was her advocate and aid. No, she was no unicorn, but this, the music she was playing here in this heart of heat and light, was the magic she had learned. The warm beam of sunlight from overhead widened, driving the red glow away from where she stood. Plants lost some of their orange tinge and began turning back to green. Cracks in the rocks sealed themselves. This place was full of mana, and mana could be tempted by music just as it could be channeled by hate and ritual.

Her case was simple, and she sang it through her cello. The world should belong to Harmony, not to dragons or ponies, rich or poor, vampires or mortals. So many things divided the world, and fostered hatred. Countless individuals clung to those differences and used hatred to amass power for themselves. The world such minds shaped was a sad, cruel place to live. There was a better way, a hard and long road that had no true end, but when one looked back along the path it was clear that it had been worth the journey. Those accidental traits that divided individuals could be overlooked, what mattered was the mind and the intent of the heart. These were the truths she told through her music. By application of these observations, pony society had flourished under Celestia's wings. This was the soul of the song she played, and she knew that even though she was surrounded by enemies, she did not play it for deaf ears. As she continued to perform, she saw tears forming in the eyes of some of the cultists, while others turned away. The music spoke to their hearts, drawing out feelings that they had long suppressed. It whispered without words that there was an absolute standard by which all are judged, pony, gryphon, or dragon, and forgiveness for sins if one is willing only to repent. That long road was a narrow one, but it was open to all. Many and wide were the paths that promised ease and greatness but led only to destruction.

The gray mare lost track of time, just as time lost track of her. It mattered not how long it took to play this suite, only that she needed to play it to the best of her abilities. This was not merely for her own soul, but so that all listening could hear and understand. Even in this warped landscape, where rocks floated and magma bubbled, music could change hearts. As she played, she had to let go of her own hatred. She had to let the anger she felt at Scoffing Song for invading her mind slip away, as well as what she held against the other cultists. None of that mattered now. No bullets flew here, no bodybags were needed. Hate only weighed her down. She was merely a mare playing a movement. All the room in her heart was filled with this sun-kissed music.

As she neared the conclusion, Octavia felt her body begin to ache. She had thrown herself so completely into the performance that sweat ran from her brow almost as though she was bleeding. This realization prompted a weary smile. Almost to the end, it is almost finished. Carry on, wayward mare. Peace will come once you have done your share. Either she would win, or she would lose, but she would perform this music to the best of her abilities. Just before the end, she saw a look of surprise fully settle upon the dragon's features, and he bowed his head as though admitting defeat. Octavia shut her eyes and focused on the finale. Nothing mattered except the song.

High above, the gryphon leaned against the window, his beak slightly open in shock. His brain struggled to comprehend the scene below. Not for lack of wanting it to be real, but because his healthy case of pessimism made it hard for him to accept such miracles. The dragon had bowed his head because he knew he had been beaten. Rollins ran a claw through his feathers and shook his head. "Well, I'll be a dodo's uncle... she actually did it." He pulled his shattered helmet back on and began to fiddle with the voxpack.

Scoffing Song looked up at the creature she had summoned with undisguised contempt. The dragon was bowing his head, all but conceding that this... this... interloper was greater than she was! She, Scoffing Song, the mare who was the entire reason he was even here! This mudpony who made that horrible racket with her cello was certainly not greater than a huge, mighty, powerful dragon! "If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself..." The disgruntled unicorn whacked one of her gawping guards over the head and wrestled his spear out of his hooves, then with a glow of her horn she heaved it right at the gray cellist. The cult leader was unused to such crude labor, and her aim was off, but the spear still hit Octavia. Its pointed tip gashed her right front leg, pierced her side, and sent her spinning to the ground with a yelp of pain. Her cello and bow clattered down next to her, shattering the tapestry of sound she had weaved with her performance. Blood gushed out across the floor, soaking her clothes and spreading around her fallen instrument until it had almost trickled beyond the circle of sunlight.

"Ha!" Scoffing Song snickered. "That settles that. A mudpony with an instrument is no match for a unicorn with a weapon." She stamped her front hooves on the ground. Many of her cultists stirred as though roused from slumber. They began to look around or grunt. The power of the music that let them think clearly had been broken. Their leader had once more demonstrated that she was the dominant force, and they obediently fell back into their old habit of obedience. She smiled wide. "Now, with that noisy racket put down, let us return to matters of actual importance."

Author's Notes:

No, The Devil Went Down to Georgia by the Charlie Daniels Band isn't part of The Carnival of the Animals, but I have wanted to put Octavia in a "musical showdown" since I wrote Darkness Dawning on my laptop at oh-two-hundred one morning back in 2012 AD. Given that Camille Saint-Saëns wrote The Carnival of the Animals for "fun", I do hope he wouldn't mind terribly much. Also, the cello counts as a "big fiddle" and is in the same family of musical instruments as the violin. In fact, the original name of the cello is the violoncello, so the song's a natural fit for Octavia!

I had considerable difficulty in describing the suites of music and their content. Using words to explain the sound of music is often a doomed effort, so I tried to focus on the metaphysical intent. Music has a notable ability to impact the listener and impart feelings or comprehension of unutterable concepts. I think it conveyed the message.

Also, there are nods in here to songs by both Triumph and Kansas. The reference to the "magic power of music" was inspired by a song by Triumph, and if you thought that "carry on, wayward mare" sounded eerily similar to one of Kansas' most popular songs... well-well!

That's all for this week, but next week's chapter is looking good! We're almost to the finale. Next week's piece is Le Cygne, or "The Swan", a piece originally scored for a solo cello accompanied by two pianos. A popular myth among the Greeks and Romans was that the beautiful swan was silent until the final moments of its life, during which it sings the most beautiful of all songs...