Готовый перевод Последняя жертва / The Last Sacrifice: Chapter 1

The sun peeped out cautiously from behind clouds as if somewhere was a hidden monster that was about to swallow it. Celestia hugged her sister shivering with a cold. She dreamed — whether out loud or in a whisper — that someday everything will be different. They'll become Princesses, for real! There will be a castle, blankets and a lot of cookies!

Luna yawned and closed her eyes.

"Celestia?"

"Hmm?"

"We shall die in the end, shan't we?"

The older filly seemed to be taken aback by such a beginning. She expected something like "good morning" but received a pretty uncomfortable question. The yonger filly regarded her silence in her own way and frowned.

"I had a dream about mom."

Silence fell between them like a thick fog. Neither of them dared to break it.

"When we die, where shall we be?"

"We'll enter the celestial bodies. Ponies of day go to the Sun, ponies of night to the Moon," Celestia booped Luna, making her smile. To the moon, heh...

"And from above we'll watch other ponies living, yes?"

"Yes..."

*

A colt was staring up into the night sky, mouth agape. He looked at the thousands of stars, at the black autumn clouds, at the horned crescent moon. Somewhere behind, as if in a past life, on the outskirts of the day there had been left all warnings, admonitions, apprehensions and screams of the parents.

His forehooves lay down comfortably on a fallen tree destroyed by an old explosion. The nasty stench of burning wood that hadn't been weathered and washed away by many hundreds of rains was like a punch in the face, but Blacksheep could endure it. The last time he had failed all so they managed to lock him in a shelter and hid from him what he thought was the event of the century! He imagined the last time. The rumbling explosions, the bursting of thousand pulsars, the dozens of Princess Celestia's guards showing their ability to fight another invaders — all had been there behind massive fortifications of the underground shelter.

Invaders had been raining down on Equestria in droves from time immemorial. Different, unlike each other, but certainly cruel and hungry for territories, life force, magic, little foals, lands... The reason why they came was always different, but the way of achieving it never changed. And when a judgment day was not far off, when the blackest hour set upon Equestria, he appeared.

The Savior.

They said each time he called himself a different name. They said he was big and walked on his hind legs because at his forelegs he had strange appendages, like a set of worms or tiny snakes; 'thingers', or something like that. Blacksheep didn't care. All the Saviors came with enviable regularity, wishing to feel the culture and 'magic of friendship' of this world only to sacrifice themselves in the end. Sometimes they were reborn, sometimes not...

The alien colossus came from behind a black thundercloud. Although, Black suggested that it was that cloud, just skillfully disguised. The bastard floated slowly and smoothly, pacing steadily along the free sky.

You see that, stars? The winners are coming! You hear that, moon? The engines of the conquerors are roaring!

Poor invaders never realized that the Savior would certainly find a way to deal with them. Some kind of miracle would happen all the time. The Princesses — Luna and Celestia, and maybe even Cadence or Twilight Sparkle — would stand as last guardians and defeat an enemy fleet. They could make it lower on the ground or slow it down or close the eyes of enemy pilots. Black wanted so badly to see this. Although Bluffer Tails said that the Princesses decided to sacrifice Ponyville and this time there was no way to save their town, Black knew he was just a cheap liar. And the cookies which his grandmother had baked last week would evaporate; that was a pity. And those two bits that he had hidden under a floor board, they too. He wanted to buy a plush toy of one powerful magician on them. So the question was, would two pieces of gold be able to burn in the inferno or not?

And there were rumors that Princess Luna became mad again. This happened with her from time to time, and she went off the rails, turning into her dark self, but she was always on the right side. This time, however... In the morning, at breakfast, Bluffer had told everyone that this time Luna was so crazy and wild that she brought herself to a full and final conclusion: to go against her sister's will. Like, her anger was so fierce and her grudge so terrible that she decided to become a servant to the invaders. Black had choked on a piece of bread when he heard this. And when Tails, that sniveling liar, had began to tell about how Luna was a petty mutt for the Chief Invader and even yapped when he ordered her to, Black couldn't help but pounce on him with his hooves. Tails had neither mind nor respect. Such a butthead! The colt rubbed his black eye. Then his father had gave him good kicking, the mother hissed as if being a snake, and even his sister was a rat and laughed at him! So he had ran away. Let they find him now! A sense of self-importance and purpose poured over his body like a warm wave, soothing his racing heart.

Black was afraid that at any moment his father could appear here, and then the alien colossus would seem an innocent toy in comparison with him.

In a single bright flash, night sky blossomed above his head — echoes of heat wave licked the colt's face, causing him to wince from surprise. Black closed his eyes, and in a split second he found himself lying face down in the dirt. Not paying attention to it, he stared at the sky colossus.

The smooth pace of the colossus flinched and slowed down, a confident gait replaced by caution. Hundreds of guns cracked, dozens of cannon thundered, beauriful traces of shell cut the sky.

A tiny figure was rushing from one small ship to another, leaving a slight trail behind. They flared up. They didn't slow down, nor did they disappear in a cloud of magic, nor did they lower on the ground — they exploded like festive fireworks.

Black almost screamed from the overwhelming delight when the silhouette hovered in place just for a moment. Bluffer could eat his words: that was Princess Luna! Princess Luna herself! The boy struggled to suppress the urge to shout her name out loud and to wave his forelegs...

* * *

Worthless, pathetic, weak. When I look at all their miserable breed, their many-coloured coats, the infinitude of smiles and the manifestation of what they call kindness, I want to trample them. The desire to collect them all together under my hoof and crush them like a hoofful of worms burns inside me.

I look at them and sincerely wonder when came the moment that we lost our power. What did not we notice? The Savior — all looking at him, praying to him, giving him praise. Waiting for him, like a flock of crows for blood, to sacrifice himself once again. And I do not care what his name will be: John, Grigory, Ivan or Mbenga...

The Mirror standing in the Canterlot treasury always spawns them in the darkest hour, offering us salvation both quick and useless. After salvation comes another enemy that is angrier, scarier and more dangerous. They promise to destroy the whole world not in a month but in a day! It is like a well-established tradition that if somewhere an evil fiend dares to bare its teeth you should run quickly into the treasury; he will already be there. Naked, muscular, not very handsome, but nevertheless fine as "a friend" to the Princesses.

Celestia glared at me while her little protege — how long ago did this tiny tot get her wings? — crumbled slabs of marble floor under her hooves in anger. The purple upstart blushed like a poppy blossom when I mentioned that she obeyed the Savior only because she liked the way he spanked her flanks and perhaps had already known their depths. Celestia turned away in embarrassment. She knew this even better.

"We must obey the Savior," the winged rugrat said. He is right, he knows how to save us. He has brought with him the wisdom of other worlds and the yearn lying beyond the bounds of thousand galaxies and, for some reason, the undissipated love of a milliard unborn stars. In return he asks only our friendship and adoration. It is not a big deal, right? Moreover, how cannot you love such... such... such him.

At some moment my kind self succumbed to these entreaties, foul affection and fleeting words as she did not dare to spot rude mockery behind the veil. Behind all friendship there is only the dull gloom of the world where the Savior has came from. Behind love — the wicked lust, the touch of a cold wet hoof to the crotch. Behind wisdom — the viscous ooze of long-learned words. He does not need us; he needs realization of his fantasies to feel himself a power, salvation, something bigger than he is. Tell me, can a world throw away strong, intelligent, decent individuals? Or does it get rid of the worthless by casting them to us?

The mystery is, how do they manage to do what they came here for? And to go away, leaving our world in the same pristine danger as before.

My kind self fell when I awakened from sleep. Little modest Luna! She was drowned in a multitude of questions, in a plethora of doubts and strong arguments. Weak and passive, she is just unworthy not only to rule the body, but to rule at all.

My sister's pathetic mutt screamed at the top of her lungs, accusing me of everything that was on her mind. In treason, in dislike of my own sister, in desire to wipe out this world from the face of the earth. And... in some ways, she was probably right.

The coolness of night asks me. What do you want? They are ponies. They have forgotten the past, they played all their lives, living without knowing troubles and hiding in the sunlight from every problem. There is a Princess, they have said, there is salvation that is sure to come. Just find shelter, hide, put a helmet on your head and wait. A day or two, a week, a month — everything will pass on. It is simple: imagine that your beloved Equestria has just got sick and the medicine is on its way.

The myriad stars ask me. Do you remember, Luna, do you remember? Do you remember those days when Chrysalis came? And how you dug your teeth in her withers, aimed at her throat. And every pony, every little foal, thought about the same thing. They dreamed not to crawl under a stone, but to die for our land. Do you remember Celestia gnashing her teeth, all forgetting that she is the Solar Princess, setting Sombra aflame? Do you remember how the Diamond Dogs who had foolishly decided to make a raid trembled? And how they ran, tails between their legs, dropping their wounded comrades?

And I say, "I do. Oh yes, I do."

I must slow them down. Let them approach Ponyville at a snail's pace, let the Savior do everything? Screw you, dear sister. No one shall die! My sister, once a powerful and strong ruler, has turned into a limp rag. Why should there be no enemy blood? Because of love and tolerance?

The grey wind exhales, dispersing pitch-black clouds. I see a huge, bigger than anything, colossal ship able to cover whole Canterlot with its shadow. Barrels of cannons glisten in the midnight darkness, lights of illumination smiling a wicked grin, engine turbines radiating heat. A swarm of small jet fighters, like locusts, circle around the giant. Like flies over a piece of dung, I think. I want to smirk.

Why are you doing this? The wind asks me a question. Well, tell me, Night, why?
Come back, obey your sister, apologize to that little upstart and obey. Let it be as always, eh?

It will not be as always, my wanderer wind, it will not. For a moment I have a vision of myself coming back ashamed, my kind self back in, and I am off again into oblivion. With my head down, sniffing my nose, accepting their smiles and pity... pity!

No, my wanderer wind, it is now or never! Never ever!

Swarming fighters spot me and change their original course. Waiting, I suppose, for my support to come from behind clouds. As if Wonderbolt pegasi or some flyers will collapse on them like hundred problems.

They have got used to it, too. They know about past defeats of their predecessors. They know that they can shoot with impunity, that the worst thing we can do is to lower them on the meadow like a precious vase.

The first fighter blossoms in a beautiful explosion as I send a single magical pulsar in its direction. A lizard pilot manages to blink his surprised eyes before the death. I wonder, what is he has thought about? But honestly, I do not care.

As if having come to their senses, cannons spoke the words of thunder. Well, I am no stranger to them…

* * *

Black was biting his lips as he watched the battle raging in the sky. A tiny neat figure, the grace of alicorns and the power of ancient ones, the might of all fears and regrets which melted together — she deftly avoided almost every shot. His ears grew deaf from the roar of cannons. Ponyville was burning; the wreckage of destroyed and damaged ships fell onto the town like a rain of fire. The first house blazed up, then the second, then the third. Would the two bits burn or not?

The glow of pulsars, the magic light, the stars falling from heavens like tiny shells. Princess Luna mauled the enemy fleet without mercy.

Black thought that it was great. An imminent spanking, his scolding and berating parents, all punishments would be in distant and unattainable future, like in a place somewhere far beyond, for now he saw the main thing. It had to been watched without closing the eyes and without blinking, only to remember all the details. "I'll tell them," Black whispered, "I'll tell everyone how it was! About Princess Luna, she didn't betray, she fought!" He imagined colorful visions of Bluffer's tears and himself mocking that liar. The colt saw himself as a hero as if it was him who fought in the sky.

In the sound of explosions and farewell cries of mechanics the enemy ships groaned, the fiery flowers opened their buds and made the enemy army melt like a candle near open fire. A holiday, thought the foal, the real one — when would you see anything like that? Only two things were vague. Black strained his tired eyes, hoping to see tiny dots of fleeing pilots. He wanted to see the wondrous invention, big white shawls on which you could gently descend to the ground even without wings. But there were none of them.

And the second question was more irritated. Where was the army? Why did the Princess fight alone? Why was she taking and receiving every blow all alone? Where were they, those brave Wonderbolts? He suddenly remembered how he had wanted to be a Pegasus to be able to join this elite detachment of flyers. And to shield the Princesses from a deadly blow during a terrible battle someday.

Nobody shielded her. The Moon of Nightmares was alone. Like the sound of a breaking glass, a terrifying laughter swept across the woods. Black pressed his ears to his head and wanted to crawl under the nearest stone. A wave of fear descended upon him and licked him as if tasting. And then it vanished just as swiftly as it had appeared.

The foal blinked, once again fixing his gaze on the clouds. Thousands of bats didn't leave their Princess. Like a legion of nightmares coming from the underworld, they blazed with fire.

The sky colossus faltered and stumbled, its pace stopped. The offensive was stricken back by an unprecedented attack. Black imagined that inside this huge ship, among the triumph of technology and mechanics, a huge lizard captain blinked in surprise and didn't know what to do. His subordinated rushing through the decks and compartments, his operators scribbling records to the distant command... all afraid.

Luna turned into a star. Deadly, murderous, merciless. The former enthusiasm instantly gave way to extreme horror when awareness creeped in his mind like a snake. The Queen of the Night came not to stop the enemy fleet — she came to punish. She was going to do justice on the brats who came up with the idea that they could to come to her land with impunity.

The infinite horror became sweet and pleasant, as if Black was looking at some mysteries being created. It was like before his eyes something old and forgotten was revived from deathly slumber. The mystical ritual — the return of the mythical heroes who could single-handedly slay a giant. And now the giant was silent and blind, howling fearfully with its turbine engines. It was about to roar and run away in a sluggish retreat.

What which remained of the former swarm of fighters hastened to leave the firmament of death. It seemed to them that there was salvation in the bowels of the mother ship. They wanted to dive under the steel of armored plates and never, never again rise in the sky. Because it was scary.

Black thought with disappointment that he had missed the very moment when it appeared. A single ship bright and blazing with lights, as if teasing. So tiny so that it could only be marveled how the ship fitted the massive body of a lizard pilot. It didn't fly; it danced. An elegant dancer worthy of the Queen herself. Warning shots sounded like they asked for a dance. And Black wanted to know what would be Luna's answer…

* * *

They are terrified. They tremble from power and might which they have never seen before. In small brains that managed to give birth to mechanical monsters, a simple idea terrible in its beauty intertwines with other thoughts like a snake: there will be no easy victory. And an easy defeat either.

My powers are not infinite. How long shots can be endured, shells be deflected, the shield be raised? A net of burns swell on my muzzle, legs and body only to be instantly covered with new skin and fur. Magic.

The Savior would smirk a wry, predatory smile if he was there. He thought that magic is nothing, a grain of sand in comparison with self-sacrifice and infinite kindness. Everyone echoed him — all like parrots repeating a long-learned phrase word by word. The miraculous mantra. Magic? The desire to fight? No, we will caress our guest, we will show him how loving we are and how we deserve to live because cruelty is alien to us.

Do you remember, Celestia, how you stomped on the Queen of the Breezies when she wanted to put all of Equestria into a deep slumber? When you offered her our friendship, a shameful war indemnity and our lands, why did the tiny jerk turn her back on you and say that she would take it from 'filthy lankies' herself? When she said that she would reduce you and put you in a glass prison like a beautiful butterfly, why did not you bow? Rage and magic, strength and power! You punished the bitch as she deserved. You scourged her like the God who burned a presumptuous sinner with righteous fire — and you was right.

And you stopped only when those petty worms begged for mercy, when their haughty pride was replaced by indelible horror and dread. Not before the strength or might they knelt, but before the power. Do you remember? I wanted to hiss it right into your violet eyes and see the reaction of all who considered you a champion of friendship.

The lizards shiver and sob, pee in leather armchairs and scream for mummy, losing control over their ships. Their fear — white like milk, thick like a fog — flows to me in streams, just about to turn into a wild river. It fills me with power, returns the lost, heals my wounds. The laughter of the triumphant Goddess is thundered over the heads of nonentities.

They flee from flaming bats and blazing stars that fall from the heavens as if hurrying to fulfill someone's desire. They run for their lives, saving the remnants of their defeated fleet. My heart pounds wildly: it is not the end, it is still not over. This does not happen, this cannot be! The realization of how weak our opponents have turned to be clouds my mind. I want to continue further, till the end of the eternity itself, to cast down to the earth a fiery rain from the wreckage of desires and hopes. It is like when I was born of grudge holding by my little foolish self. How did they want to call my reign? Eternal night? Eternal pleasure…

Two shells explode nearby; a pilot of a tiny ship does not even aim at me. Shooting in a percursory manner. Has he fallen in love? Or wants to play? Teasing and exacerbating? If so, then he has succeeded.

The wind — screaming in the ears: shall we dance? The lizard — performing a bizzare manoeuvre, flaunting in front of me, asking: shall we dance? He knows that if I go into a wild attack he will immediately hide under the protection of thousand energy shields, like his brothers before. It did not save them. But it will save him, though.

Such a cavalier, with epaulettes and aiguilettes, hung with medals, hiding his eye behind a view-lens! Dressed in a black jacket with a white knitted scarf, white-toothed grin of sharp teeth on his face. In his single eye there is a gleam of an endless series of battles. Winged, mechanical, beetle-like creatures — how many lives have been taken by him? How many partners has he asked for a dance of death? For how many has he become a rustle of deadly maracas?

Shall we dance? The pilot asks me for a dance and extends a green claw. Should I flush with embarrassment or tilt up my head arrogantly?

The calm rhythm of the dance, measured like the life of a peasant, sound in my ears.

"Your Highness?" the cannons ask humbly, spitting shell by shell.

"My Majesty," the pulsars answer them with pride and dignity.

Shall we dance? Yes, we shall! Play faster, ye musicians! From the waltz to the merry Earth Pony branle! From the branle to the jaunty Pegasus polka! Let the Grim Reaper itself play our music. Let there be no Goddess nor Mortal among the wild dance today. On equal terms they are. Behold, all servants and plebs! On equal terms!

"How beautiful you are, my good lady," the engine murmurs, performing an avoiding manoeuvre.

"I can say the same about you, my honest sir," a flap of my tired wings echoes.

Play your music, Reaper! A violin whines, carving out rampageous fervor of strings; a flute echoes it in the heat of battle. Who said that a flute is an instrument of a peacemaker? What does he know! A double bass booms and thunders in exploding shells right over the ear. A drum rumbles like a clockwork watch as if counting every moment, every second of the passionate dance.

Things are out of whack for the Reaper today. The instrument play out of tune: the violin wails like a tortured cat, flute grows deaf in the cacophony noises, drum loses the beat, and bass seems to have all the strings broken.

Do you hear the Unicorn lament coming?

"Dying is bad for health, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," I say with a smile. Is it a duel? No, just a conversation between two dancers.

Manoeuvres, counter attacks, suicidal onslaughts and a sense of fear creeping occasionally into the soul — is it what dancers should talk about? But what if... what if one gets hit? Feathers flying, the starlit mane tangling and fading and hanging low? The alien mechanism screeching its swan song, muffling the curses and the gnashing of teeth, taking the pilot into the fire and oblivion? Do we have to care about aviation terms today? It is better to see what a good whisk you have made.

The Reaper throws the instruments away and jumps itself on a table, squatting boldly and stamping, tap-dancing, clapping over the head and over the ears, setting the rhythm and asking to adjust. As if saying, 'Whatever you want, I'm not going to go away alone. Either with a bonnie lady on my arm or with a noble gent, does it matter to me?'

The Reaper does not care, but we do.

"What a pity, milady," the right wing brattles, falling off completely. A pulsar has sliced through it, the dangerous manoeuvre ends in failure The ship lurches, limps, then stumbles. Like a bird, it rushes to the ground.

"Indeed, what a pity." Her Majesty should not cry, that is what I told myself. Her Majesty should not cry, but I want it so badly. And then there is a strike — not of the ship crushing on the ground but of a shell bursting through my shield. The searing heat, the flash of scorched feathers, the death cry of the barrier broken like a shattered glass.

"How quickly you did follow me, milady," my partner's ship responds sadly before the earth receives him in its cold embrace, the words of the dead ascending to me with a ritual dance of fire.

My wings try to restore balance but fail. The goddess has come to an end, all powers lost in a brisk dance…

* * *

They swirled and converged like two tiny stars. Like a couple of long lost lovers, like random passers-by, they rushed past each other. And only the wind was there to witness them. Black bit his lip. He didn't know for whom he should cheer. For Princess Luna, the Black Goddess and the Lady of the Tenebrous Nightmares? Or for the bold pilot who grasped a hand-wrought steering wheel in his claws?

Like being in caresses of love, they incited and lured and deceived. It was as if they were about to ride each other in a bed. The colt thought he had to blush. But he didn't. He just wanted to say that it was beautiful. And it seemed like there was neither threat to all Equestria nor the Savior waiting somewhere for his sacrificial hour; all that was important was going on here. He had to to see, to find them! To notice them in a series of flashing silhouettes and images. The smoke trail, the another one, the flickering trace of a pulsar. Was it even possible?

The pilot whirled; he couldn't stand the pace, didn't react in time, sprained a leg in the middle of the swashbuckling dance. His ship flashed up like a match just from one hit. How little there was needed to perish... into nonexistence, into oblivion, into eternity — Blacksheep could pick up thousands of words. And none of them fitted what was happening.

The colossus wasn't asleep. Fallen but not defeated, it decided that winning at any cost is still winning. A sound came as if from nowhere: a bolt of the giant cannon clanked loudly. When did they find time to point it? Tracking the couple's manoeuvres was a hard row to hoe. But they did it. An igneous flower bloomed over the earth, its fiery petals falling down. Black watched it.

...Princess died? Where was she? Princess... Goddess, she couldn't, she shouldn't, she mustn't... His dimpled cheeks, dirty and covered with soot after the night fight, forced the treacherous tears to take branching paths towards the earth. And then a gleam of hope helped him to notice her — the wrathful storm of fury, ready to punish villains for infamy.

* * *

It should not be like this, Luna! It just should not! The wind begs, the wind asks me to back off. Come back! Not for so long ago it has grumbled discontentedly; now it begs.

I am so tired, my wanderer wind, I can not. Falling. The wings do not obey. And the black muzzle of the head cannon is pointed at me as if deciding whether it is enough or to add more fire.

The rebel Princess, the brave Princess, the foolish Princess. Come on, give up your idea. I will blow as hard as I can, I will change your course, and you will gently touch the ground. Let them burn the town, let this 'hueman' — or whatever his name is —sacrifice himself, let the enemy fleet go into eternity.

O ye wind! A vagabond, a friend, a lover. At nights you caressed my body. In moonlit twilights when I wanted to cry into the pillow, holding my grief down, you brought me coolness. You whispered pleasant nonsense in my ears. You told me about funny fears of others, about what was the day that I did not see.

But why are you doing this, Luna? The wind does not want to calm down and whips the face of — Her Majesty? — Her Highness only harder. What are you going to accomplish?

The wind reads my thoughts, seeing through me, understanding the simple plan which the lizards still fail to realize. It seems to them that my cold corpse will collapse on their hull like a long-awaited terrible trophy, like a generous payment for all ruined lives. They think that their ship will sail to the mountain where Celestia are waiting with the young upstart and the alien hero to show them my dead body. Like a spit in the face, 'All your efforts are naught but mud and dust.'

They do not realize, but the wind does. I will descend upon them not like a defeated carcass but like the last blow of — Her Highness? — Her Majesty. I will become their terror, their nightmare, their pain. Like a bullet through the thickness of the armor, through the ligature of wires, through the complexity of mechanisms. Breaking it and breaking myself.

Spread your wings, Luna! Spread your wings, my girl! I will catch you, and then we will fly away so you can have some sleep, and everything will be okay tomorrow.

No, my little wind, it will not. Everything will be worse, only worse. After these reptiles there will be other ones, and some new disaster after them, and so on. It will never be okay.

Why are you doing this, why? Is it heroism, false bravado, a childish protest? What are you going to prove and for who, Luna? Do you think that they will cry? That Celestia will visit your grave, shedding tears, all the mistakes admitted at once? Do you think that they... those insignificant beings who you have decided to save and protect... that THEY will appreciate it? They will erect a memorial of you, and the next day birds will start shitting on it. They will forget. In a day? No, in an hour. You, all your life, will be remembered only on the day when there is time to go trick-and-treat.

What is it for, Luna? What for? They can do it without you!

The wind is angry. It does not want to accept the bitter truth. It is afraid not of my fury, but of losing me. They say that you love the one for whom you worry. Thank you, wind, I am pleased. But I can not.

They — both invaders and another Savior — come from the outside, from other worlds. Because we are weak. As if the universe itself knows this and wants something from us. As if each of our new enemies is an attempt, a hint that we cannot understand. Since when has it started? Was it the moment when all troubles began to be solved by friendship, when we lost our power, entrusting our lives to the whimpering of promises and conversations? Friendship! Friendship on any terms, everything but war! Everything if there is no blood, no violence. Not the hardness of ground, but the softness of pillows!

We do not fight. Really, why? After all, the mirror — shatter, you damned glass! — will give us salvation. Do you hear, wind? Do you hear the town burning there, below us, the town which we decided to sacrifice? And why? Because we are scared. What if the enemy looses a drop of his blood? What if he gets hurt? Why do we think about it, why not this scum under us?

There you run, parasites. Rushing along the deck, fussing like a bunch of tiny cockroaches. The cannon barrel that was silent all the time wakes up and changes the direction. Will I get my turn before a shot or will I not? Energy shields wrap the ship one after another in layers, like a carapace, spending last bits of power. Have they realized? Or does the ship's captain like to reinsure? Whatever sense it has now…

I am the strength, do you hear me, wind? Born of strength, possessing strength, ruling by strength! And I do not want to rule feeble insects! There is a place for struggle, survival, might in my eternal night. The weakness is not afraid of nightmares; it relishes them.

It will not be good tomorrow, my dear friend. We will watch conquerors coming. We will hide behind every stone, watching them as they save us. We are not to save, but to be saved. We, adults? No, we are silly and carefree children — happy from the fact that a do-gooder, a hero, will come and protect us. Eternal children that do not want to grow up. We will pray to the mirror, praising it like a false god. Poor harvest? O Savior, come to us! Rebelling weather? O Savior, come to us! A broken barn? O Savior, come to us! Degradation, that is it: interminable, merciless and inevitable. What kind of wretches are we if for salvation of our — OUR! — world we need a sacrifice from the outside, from another world?

Equestria will weaken, become a special place for manifestation of someone else's wet dreams, someone else's dissatisfaction, someone else's despondency. And we will be happy with the way we are used. I do not want to see this, wind, even from the Moon. I do not want…

* * *

Afterwords

Black swallowed the bitter taste of tears, sniffing and soothing himself with foolish hopes. How many years had passed since that day? Ten? Twenty? Hundred? Or maybe it all was yesterday?

Yesterday, yeah...

A fancy black car rushed by with extremely high speed. Mud and thawed snow flew from under the wheels. A young mare shrank back, muttering something under her breath.

Princess Luna looked like she was alive. Now, like, she'd wince and shudder, shaking off whitewash and rock dust, her mighty wings spread wide open. A spark of hundreds and thousands of galaxies would dance in her mane, showing the mystery of starlit abysses and black holes.

It wouldn't.

The Savior's Mirror had cracked on the same day when the fleet of lizards was stopped by the rebellious Princess. Realizing his uselessness, the confused Savior had disappeared somewhere. He was nowhere to be found, as if there had never been any Savior.

Everyone had prepared for big troubles. Day by day newspapers had been blazing with press furore about a new crisis, that an enemy whom no one had ever seen in the whole life would reveal itself in all his glory. And then…

Nothing happened. An enemy was in no hurry. The shattered Mirror shut the door in Equestria not only for heralds of new salvation, but for harbingers of new doom too. Of course, troubles happened: ordinary and trivial. A poor harvest, a hurricane, a wild tribe of Gryphons romping in air ways. Trivialities which could be resolved by the Princesses. They ruled, didn't bother with the whinny of critics, and they were right. Only Luna wasn't there.

The rebel Princess, the stubborn Princess, the beloved of wind! The memory of you lived in bunches of flowers laying there when the spring came and in snow gleaming white when the winter set in.

A candy from his pocket slid into the hoof and almost fell in mud. Black's eyes were watering, probably from old age. Take it, Your Highness. Your Highness? No, Your Majesty. The sacrifice that the universe had waited for.

The world is worth living in when the embodiment of strength can sacrifice itself.

She didn't want to die, that was what Black told himself. She was going to kill, knowing that she mightn't come out victorious. She knew that her childish revolt might be the last. But could it be otherwise? She was the strength!

A wind swept few snowflakes and whispered woefully: she didn't want to die. The wind was cold, biting, violent at this memorial. They said that it never had to be cleaned because birds didn't dare to fly near.

She didn't want neither to die nor to live in a world of weak-willed slaves. How many would understand her sacrifice? Would they understand, appreciate and mourn it? Black didn't know. The wind didn't either. They both cared little about others. Black remembered how he had sobbed at that piece of wood as he had prayed, not even knowing whom, for her to emerge from the husk of the destroyed leviathan. Wounded, beaten, broken, but alive. They hadn't even found her. She disappeared. She vanished like she had never existed.

And foals came here in the evenings. They called Black an old fool and mooncalf when he told them about her act of bravery. And when the moon would appear on the horizon, they immediately ran there to kiss her in the muzzle — a loving, innocent, naive kiss. For them, she was the hero of a beautiful fairy tale. Not a rebellious Princess but a brave servant of the Savior.

Did you want to be a servant to the Savior, Luna? Or was it the fate you had sought to escape? Perhaps you know it, wind? The wind didn't know. Or it did but still kept silence, only throwing angrily a mess of biting snowflakes into the muzzle.

Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/65655/332042

Переводчики: psychoshy